Elementals, Part I: A Breath of Fresh Air - UPDATED
by Ghost-of-a-Chance-13
Summary: After Manning's arrest, he's replaced by a woman named Amber Wynden Willow. She immediately starts making waves-some good, some not-but it's safer than going home. Trouble is brewing in Missouri-trouble that's followed her to the Bureau, & will bring about the end of life as they know it. Her clan has hidden their elemental oddity for years, but nothing can be hidden forever.
1. Prologue

**_I don't own Hellboy, any of its characters or devices, or any songs/books/movies mentioned; no money is made from this story. I DO own way more tea than is healthy._**

 _Hey, Folks! Ghost here. Welcome to BoFA, the first part of my "Elementals" series; I really hope you enjoy it like I've enjoyed writing it. As usual, trigger warnings are posted before chapters likely to set off certain problems, and each chapter is begun with one or more songs that really set the mood for the chapter._

 _With how many different versions of the Hellboy fandom are out there, maintaining a believable balance can be difficult. For Abe, I've leaned toward the animated series in appearance, the live-action movies in abilities/hobbies, and combined all three options in personality. Hellboy's mostly a mix of live-action appearance and live-action/animated personality. There may be spoilers ahead for any and all series. So sit back, relax, and sink your teeth into BoFA, y'all, and remember: things aren't always as they seem, and thoughts and feelings can influence perceptions. This chapter's dedicated to anyone who has the knockers to willingly move from Smalltown, USA to NYC._

 _ **Suggested listening: Linkin Park, "No More Sorrow"**_

* * *

 **Prologue**

They'd thank him for it one day, the scowling man reminded himself as he sat at his large, expensive desk. It may not be soon, or in a few years - he may well be dead and gone by the time they realized just what he'd gone through on their behalf. Until then...

'...well, they already _hate_ me,' he admitted to himself darkly. 'What's a few more years of it? At least they'll be better off when I'm done...and this freak show will be shut down for good.' A hesitant knock at the door dragged him from his thoughts, and he yanked a stack of sealed envelopes from a pile of other paperwork.

"What?" he called out. An agent hovered in his now open doorway, clearly rethinking his purpose for disturbing the surly director. "Spit it out, Myers."

"Uh, Sorry Dr. Manning," Agent John Myers almost stammered. "You called me? Something about outgoing mail?"

Just for a moment, regret soured Thomas Manning's stomach. 'No,' he reminded himself forcefully, viciously marking the last envelope's return address field with a rubber stamp. 'This is no life for anyone, much less freaks who'll never be able to live a normal life; they're better off out of the public eye.' Without further ado, he stuffed the envelope into a stack of others and shoved it at Myers. "Get going."

For a moment, John stared at his supervisor in concern. Manning wasn't known for good attitude, exceptional people skills, or even being an open book, but the agent couldn't help feeling that something was off. As the older man shot him with a stern glare, he ducked out the door and scampered away, never comprehending the disaster to come.

A week later, several major news outlets published breaking news, exposing a branch of the government that supposedly had never existed. That very day, Dr. Thomas Manning was taken from the bureau in cuffs, charged with treason, espionage, and sabotage. That very day, a worried redhead packed away her life for yet another cross-country move, oblivious to the shitstorm awaiting her.


	2. 1: Amber

**_Well, here's the new chapter. It's kinda "Blah" after that prequel, but extra long to make up for it. Be warned: Drama kills._**

 ** _Literature nerd moment! In this chapter, Abe chooses four books to read, then replaces two with two new ones. The first four books have something in common, and after he switches those two out, the new set has a different common theme. I'd love to see how many of you figure it out! (Hint: You're probably overthinking it.) PM with your answers or ask in a review if you're feeling bored, and I'll either confirm or deny. Whoever figures out one or both answers will be named in the next chapter, and receive its dedication. This chapter dedicated to all my fellow literature nerds who are totally unashamed of it._**

 **Suggested listening: Geddy Lee "Slipping," Toad the Wet Sprocket "California Wasted"**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Amber**

'Lack of it will extinguish fire…an excess can level country sides. Lack of it leaves water stagnant…an excess creates tempests. It's all about balance.. _._ ' The woman with light auburn hair silently finished the internal pep-talk with the same familiar quote she always did. 'In the absence of a balance, Chaos prevails… _Find that balance,_ and success is yours.' She stepped out of the cab that had brought her to, of all places, a _waste treatment plant_. Turning to ask the driver if there was a mistake, she saw the vehicle speeding off as though the IRS were after him. She had a _bad_ feeling about this…She pressed the intercom button to be let in.

"State your name and purpose," came the crackling voice through the intercom as the security camera focused in on her face.

"Dr. Amber Wynden Willow, Transfer from Jeff City." The person on the other end of the speaker was waiting too long to answer, she thought as the wind picked up a little around her. Realizing what was going on, she forced her reaction down, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The speaker finally crackled to life.

"I don't know what you're up to, kid, but we don't have an Amber Wind-in Willow on our records. So quit being a smart ass and go pull your little pranks elsewhere." Amber felt her control slipping at the haughty, scolding tone of the security worker, barely noticing the hefty wind that swooped down, rattling the gate. "And quit trying the gate, twerp." She reached for the government issued ID card she'd kept handy, just in case this happened, holding it up by her face and whipping her sunglasses off.

"I beg your pardon, buster, but I am _not_ a 'Twerp,' _nor_ am I pulling a _prank, or_ trying the _gate_. The _wind_ picked up out here and _rattled it_. Now please, search your records…My name is Amber Wynden Willow, I'm from Jefferson City, Missouri, and I just received notice of this transfer at the beginning of the month…This will be my first day in this job if you'll let me through, and I've no desire to be _late_ for it."

"Your ID card says 'Wine-den' Miss…not Win-dun." Seething with barely suppressed rage, Amber's eyes flashed as she let loose a long, unprofessionally angry answer…which put her carefully suppressed Ozarkian accent out front and center.

"It may well be spelled like that, yah dim-bulb, but I can assure you _without fail_ that every single cotton-pickin' generation of my family has _pronounced_ it _Windun!_ It's a family name! Now will yah _please_ let me _in_ so I can _do_ ma' _Gol-durned job!_ _"_

'Oh, _Gran'ma Lila's lipstick,_ I did _not_ just do that,' Amber managed to think, forcing her tenuous control back into place and glancing discreetly around at the results of the killer dust devil that a few months warmer, would have become a small tornado. The once clean driveway was covered with snow-specked, shredded leaves, dirt, trash, and other debris from nearby places. She was getting careless…It would be a miracle if they didn't call Security on her right then and there. The speaker was silent for a full minute, during which she managed to somewhat get ahold of herself. Finally, in a voice that told her the owner of the voice was smirking and nearly bursting from amusement, the intercom crackled again.

"Congratulations Ma'am. The last moron was a sneaky, lazy, ass-kissing whiner. You have a backbone, and know how to get things done." Wait, w _hat?_ "Look at the birdie, Ma'am." The keypad flipped upward, exposing a retinal scanner. Deciding not to push her luck further, Amber submitted to the scan, attempting to appear confident and aloof, despite the stinging in her eye. "Welcome aboard, Dr. Willow…We're glad to have you." The gate unlatched, and opened for her; Amber strode swiftly toward the building replacing her sunglasses. 'That wretched _gate_ is better _balanced_ than I am,' she thought grimly, noting that the gate hadn't screeched, squealed, or even creaked. She took several deep, cleansing breaths, and mentally repeated her personal mantra. _'_ _In the absence of a balance, chaos prevails_ _…_ _Find that balance, and success is yours..._ _'_ Almost to the building, a sudden thought hit her…

'God, I hope my new job isn't to monitor the mapping of _sewers_...I'm cartin' my kiester _back to Missour-uh_ if it is.'

Meanwhile, in the security wing, Agent Rush turned to Agent Moss, curiously. "Moss? Did you mean that, what you said to her?" Moss grinned, kicking his feet up on the desk.

"She won't last a _week_."

* * *

Fifty-one floors below ground, in a library fit for a king, four infamous agents were researching the bowels of the New York City sewer system. Abraham Sapien sat in an ornate vintage desk chair, sifting through the histories of the piles of maps littering the desk before him, trying desperately to find a date somewhere. Liz sat at a laptop she'd set up on a nearby table, searching everywhere she could think of, trying to find something, ANYTHING that referenced the colossal alligators in New York's sewers without claiming they were a hoax. Hellboy...well, he lounged precariously on the edge of the couch, unlit Cuban hanging loosely from the hand dangling off the side of the couch…sound asleep with an anthology of well-known urban legends propped up by his face.

Despite a lack of visible stress, there was enough tension in the air to give the average psychic a headache. Amber hovered hesitantly in the doorway; her escort had run off to apprehend what she could have sworn was a unicorn wearing a pair of lacy black women's panties draped on its horn. She had a _bad_ feeling about this… Suddenly, she was nearly bowled over by young John Myers as he raced into the library of the BPRD.

" _You_ _'_ _re not gonna believe this!_ " he yelped. Waking with a start, Hellboy tumbled off the couch to the floor, his cigar winding up smashed when he landed on it. Abe startled violently, nearly ripping the priceless Dustbowl era Sewer map he'd been focused on. Liz jumped in her seat, sending the wireless mouse flying off the other side of the table, several feet away, the impact causing the popup Liz had been about to close, to load. Right after the link opened, the speakers emitted a loud tone, indicating that a virus had been found.

 _"_ _What?!_ _"_ two of the three agents snapped, causing Myers to flinch upon seeing the destruction his sudden outburst had caused. He quickly recovered, though, hoping that his news would smooth thing over.

"Manning hasn't been sick after all," John breathed. "He's been _fired!_ His desk and rooms have been cleaned out and _everything!_ The report says he's behind that huge leak awhile back — he's charged with treason, espionage, and sabotage of a government program… _this one!_ "

"—And you're surprised _why?"_ Hellboy grunted, dragging himself to his feet.

"As cynical as ever," Abe sighed, sharing an annoyed glance with Liz.

"Why bother celebrating?" Hellboy grumbled in reply, shooting Abe a sour look as he settled stiffly in the oversized chair next to the couch. " _Manning_ was worthless, the bigwig _before_ _Manning_ was worthless, and you know _damn well_ the _next one_ will be worthless, _too_. They _always_ have a hidden agenda, and they _never_ care about doing their job right." Abe sighed in defeat at Hellboy's fatalistic attitude. Maybe he was right, he thought morosely. Maybe the new guy would be just as worthless as Manning had been.

"Um…" a soft voice cut in from the doorway. "Hello?" Finally, everyone noticed their company. Despite his attempts not to stare, Abe could not help studying the woman in the doorway. She wasn't too thin, but rather had curves in all the right places. Vibrant, layered light auburn hair dusted her shoulders in the gentle breeze from the furnace vents. Her soft, fair skin was liberally dusted with freckles, and a flush of rose laughed from her cheeks. Her eyes…He forced a swallow. Though very out of focus, they were elegant, feminine, and seemingly void of makeup; the irises were bright, their warm amber color reminding him of a brand of bourbon whisky Hellboy was fond of. A remarkable shade of hazel, to sure. He'd only ever seen that shade once, in the memories of another.

"Y-Yes, Miss?" Abe stammered.

"Hi," Amber answered hesitantly, still glancing around the room randomly. "I think I'm lost..." Good Lord, Abe thought, stunned by the woman's voice - a sweet, soft mezzo-soprano with what sounded to be a carefully suppressed southern drawl. Abe forcibly cleared his mind, seeing the way she clutched the strap of her khaki messenger bag with one hand, holding it tightly to her side with the other. She was nervous…and there he was _staring_ at her, probably making her _more_ nervous. Had his isolation from the human race completely wrecked his manners? The man he'd once been would never have been distracted by any woman, no matter how distracting she might be. Of course, he thought darkly, Caul had been rather cruel to his wife Edith, and his associates from the Oannes Society might have had a hand in Lincoln's assassination. The man wasn't exactly the sort _anyone_ should emulate.

Hoping for a distraction, he paced over to the book-stands, focusing on replacing last night's books with four new ones. Upon the morbid realization that he'd gathered up Pride and Prejudice, Jane Eyre, The Scarlet Letter, and Flowers For Algernon, he sighed in frustration. She was more distracting than he'd first thought. He discreetly replaced the Austen novel with George Orwell's Animal Farm, and the Bronte novel with A Clockwork Orange. After all, after the strange woman's sudden appearance, he doubted he'd have the concentration for anything but light reading.

"Well…" Liz spoke up since Hellboy seemed content to glare at the woman, John was too embarrassed to string two words together, and Abe was clearly lost in thought. "Where were you headed?"

"I'm seeking Professor Broom," Amber explained hesitantly, "I must speak with him." Hellboy eyed her with increasing suspicion, from her cinnamon knit cardigan, to her long black skirt, to her simple ivory blouse, to her brown moccasin loafers, and finally back up to her out of focus amber eyes.

"Whaddayou want with Father?" he asked in a near growl. She startled at the words, then squinted almost painfully.

 _"FATHER?"_ she mumbled dubiously. "You've got to be _kidding me."_ She cast her eyes around the room around as though searching for something.

"Whatcha lookin' for, Huh?" he asked gruffly, standing and lumbering toward her. Finally, she noticed a small lamp table nearby, which she hoisted her satchel onto. She began rifling through it, her forehead creasing in confusion.

" _GET DOWN!_ " Hellboy yelled at the rest and tackled the woman to the ground, causing the small brown case she'd just retrieved to fly out of her hand and land at Abe's feet. " _Myers, alert security! Have them check that bag!_ " The woman just stared up at him in naked shock. Abe stretched his palm out toward her, quickly realizing the truth. He retrieved the case at his feet, bringing it over toward them.

"Red, she was looking for THESE," he smirked wryly, opening the case and showing Hellboy the fine, tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses inside.

" _What?!_ "

"Will you _please_ get _off_ me now?" The woman's voice was full of reproach, almost as though he were a misbehaving little brother, Hellboy thought. It was disconcerting, to say the least. He stood and brushed himself off. "I'm very nearsighted," the woman continued in an irritated tone, allowing Abe to help her up. She tossed a quick, curious glance at Abe, her cheeks blushing a delicate pink that lessened the impact of the indignant glare she aimed at Hellboy. "…and I'd like to actually SEE my surroundings this time." She deftly fixed the eyeglasses to her nose and ears. Abe noticed with curiosity that the earpieces were spring-loaded, both curved in a circle to fit around the back of her ear...perhaps they fell off...a lot?

"Why weren't you wearing those when you came in?" John asked in confusion. She reached into her sweater pocket, holding up a soft case from which she withdrew her prescription sunglasses. They had the same curled earpieces, Abe saw out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes widened as she inspected the damage…Thanks to Hellboy's flattening of her, they were bent harshly out of shape.

"Thanks, Buster. I'll send you the repair bill." She shot Hellboy a death-glare. Abe winced; how could eyes so bright and soft become sharp and cold at a moment's notice?

" _Hey!_ " Hellboy bellowed as she retrieved her bag and headed toward the library door. "Where do you think _you_ _'_ _re_ going?!"

"To find Broom myself, of course. He's got some explaining to do…." Her tone was clipped and brisk, and her expression showed frustration as she swiftly strode out into the hall. Hellboy growled in irritation, but Abe just stared. This woman knew more than she was telling them...

He followed her path to the hall, concerned, and almost suspicious. Liz turned to Myers, her eyes hopeful.

"So Manning's gone…that mean the sewer mission's canceled?"

Even at a good distance, Abe knew the auburn-haired woman was in Professor Broom's private office…He could've heard the yelling all the way back by the library.

 _"_ _B,_ _"_ the woman snarled as she slammed the office door. " _I trusted you!_ You said this job had _nothing_ to do with the supernatural…that it was a _supervisory_ position, and one I'd _excel_ at! _WHY did you LIE TO ME after ALL THESE YEARS?!_ " The Professor was still attempting to maintain a civil tone, though it came across as more lecturing than anything else.

"I did nothing of the sort, Amber," Broom replied. "I told you your position would not _require_ the _use_ _of any supernatural powers_. It _is_ a supervisory position and you _will excel_ at it if you can learn to control yourself and get over your fears. Those are the only obstacles in your way, right now."

" _Control_ myself?! _Get over_ my _fears?!_ " she raged. "B, you' gone _too far_ this time! _I_ ain't the one you gotta _worry_ about here! Aunt Ashlyn's gonna _whoop_ your _ASS_ , her husband's gonna tie you down and _videotape it_ , and Aunt A's gonna _suffocate me again!"_ Her shrieking voice cracked harshly at the last. "If I work here even for a _day_ , we're both good as _dead_ if'n the _family_ ever find out!" What sounded like a heavy gust of wind rattled the door to the office; Abe sprinted the rest of the distance to the door, straining against some invisible force holding the door shut. " _B, God love yah, an_ _'_ _so do I, but Goddammit, I REFUSE to allow m_ _'_ _self to become some sort of SIDESHOW EXHIBIT,_ _'_ _SPECIALLY when I_ _'_ _ll get m_ _'_ _HIDE TANNED OVER IT!_ "

Abe flinched in the open doorway, as though her words had physically wounded him. He didn't notice the papers now littering the floor as though they'd been caught in the currents of a dust devil; nor did he notice that the framed certificates and photos on the walls, which were always hung perfectly straight and level, were now hanging askew. It never even registered that the professor's neat white hair appeared to have been blown in every direction along with the visitor's red locks. In truth, all he noticed was that the woman—Amber—whom he'd thought so beautiful only moments ago, whose eyes had seemed warm and kind...she now stood before the Professor, seething with rage at being tricked into joining the BPRD and associating with people she probably considered freaks…including him.

She'd crushed him like Manning had never been able to, and she'd not even actually met him.

Professor Broom had turned his eyes from her to Abraham as soon as the door opened, his expression concerned. Seeing this, Amber stiffened and fearfully turned to face the open door. Fiery golden eyes melted, showing regret, humiliation, and despair when they met Abe's ocean blue ones. He could tell by her dismayed, pained expression that she knew she'd hurt him. That wouldn't do, he thought, steeling his countenance. If she knew how her words had affected him, it would give her a power over him that even Manning hadn't had…and that wouldn't do. His hands clenched at his sides in a shielding habit; closed, they picked up little to nothing, and he needed the silence.

"Abe…" the Professor attempted.

"I'll drop by later, Professor," he stated blandly, his voice revealing none of the emotions ripping his mind apart. "'Twas nothing important. Miss?" Amber flinched at the dark glare he aimed at her. "Congratulations. Hopefully, you've more skill than you've _restraint_."

Amber's hurt, tearful eyes made Abraham's stomach churn into a sailor's knot…but he couldn't let himself show it. He turned and left the office, leaving the door wide open in a passive-aggressive hint. As he stalked away, he heard Amber's breath catch in her throat as she fought tears. To his surprise, he felt the air in the hallway grow extremely cold…and still. The air conditioner hadn't kicked on - it was the middle of January! The only sounds he heard were the fluttering of paper and the professor's voice speaking calmly to the new supervisor. He turned and looked back toward the Professor's office incredulously as the door slowly creaked shut.

Could it be? He shook some sense into himself. No. It simply wasn't possible.

* * *

Back in the office, the papers that had been blown everywhere began to flutter back up onto the desk in neat piles. The frames on the walls straightened themselves. Amber shakily collapsed in the chair behind her, sitting as comfortably as she would on a bed of nails. Staring into space, she replayed the agent's words over and over in her mind. Professor Broom finally spoke up when it became clear that she couldn't.

"Well, my girl, congratulations…" he stated grimly. "Not twenty minutes on the job, and you've already made a horrible first impression." He leaned back in his desk chair and folded his hands on the desk. "What are you going to do, now?" Amber turned watery eyes to the door, feeling cold and alone. The phantom hands that had picked up the papers and righted the frames, weakly pushed the door closed.

"I wasn't talking about them…" she nearly whispered. "I would never have said that about them. I just…."

"I know, my dear…but Abraham doesn't know about the Willow clan. He may well be relating this incident to the others as we speak, and if he does, they'll believe him. They'll be less compliant, some will be belligerent, and Abe himself will be difficult at best. Do you still believe yourself completely in control of your temper, and immune to your fears?" He studied her carefully. "Those fears sparked the argument, after all." Amber looked up into Broom's eyes, finally. "So. What are you going to do now, hm?" He could see in her eyes the moment she resolved herself to her actions.

"First, I'm going to settle into my quarters," she stated, relating her intentions step by step as he'd taught her years before. "I'm going to work on my temper, and improve my control over my… _inheritance_. I'll set aside at least an hour each day to practice that control, and the same number of hours to work on training myself to a point where I feel safe on a daily basis again…" she faltered somewhat, unsure she could actually live up to the last promise she wanted to make.

"…and?" Broom prodded, expectantly. Amber steeled herself, and silently committed herself to do everything she could to fulfill her promises, and prove her worth in the position.

"In the absence of a balance, Chaos prevails…" she finished quietly. "… _I will find my Balance_." He sat silently for a moment, considering her oddly formal words, but finally, broke into a fond smile.

"You've grown, Amber." She blushed hotly.

"I was a child, B," she reminded. "Not yet five years old when you left. A lot can happen in so many years."

"Yet those aunts of yours still terrify you," he reminded. "and you still cower in that fear."

"Forgive me for saying it," she retorted indignantly. "but wouldn't you be terrified of your relations if one was pyrokinetic and the other aerokinetic? Ashlyn's burns take forever to heal, and Aunt A…" She shuddered, blanching at memories — memories of a darkened barn, a horde of hungry rats, and a spider bite she'd never felt. "Better to cower and live unmolested, than to anger her, and have your breath stolen."

"Is it now?" She shifted uncomfortably; the reproach in his eyes hit too close to home. "Have you never wondered why she singles you out?"

"I live," she answered bitterly. "To her, that's reason enough. If she's found out about the others — Vega, Avira, all the rest — then she has yet more reason to wish me dead. It does no good to question one's reasoning if they have no reasoning themselves — she's irrevocably insane, B." Silence reigned a moment as she considered whether she wanted her question answered, or if the truth would be too much.

"I assume you've met him?" the professor asked quietly, his eyes drawn to a photo on the wall. Hellboy had been just a boy when it was taken, though he himself had begun to see grey hairs. Amber followed his gaze, a rock forming in her throat; she nodded.

"You never told us…and never intended to."

"No." He turned to another photo on the wall; the woman was rather petite with a fine figure, and though the sepia-toned photo didn't show it, bright hazel eyes and brown hair almost dark enough to be black.

"He's your absolution, then? Leaving us wasn't enough?" The sharp glance was full of censure, and she cringed. "Forgive me, I—"

"You didn't think before you spoke, Amber, and you rarely do. It was a fault of hers as well, so I can't be too surprised." She stood, intent on beating a swift retreat. "Amber…" She glanced back; he smiled wryly. "You've still accomplished much in these years; Clover would be proud." His smile told her he, too, was proud, though she couldn't agree with it. What had he to be proud of, when she'd never mastered the faults that had always plagued her? "It's good to see you again, Dear. You need to go by Lab five sometime today; they have a tracker for you."

With a tremulous smile, she left him to his work.

* * *

 _Closing note: That bit about Liz and the mouse was **totally not** based on something that's happened to me before as a result of my husband, Cold, being a freakin' ninja. Nope, not at all based on reality._


	3. 2: A Deeper Problem

_Been a long time, Folks! Sorry 'bout that—Real Life has grown very greedy about what little free time I have, and family life has become harder than ever. I've had to quit on part-time job, increased hours on my other, and put off the one that doesn't pay; novel writing, after all, can wait when life becomes a whirlwind. A much beloved family member was just diagnosed with cancer—terminal, has spread to his brain—and I've been spending as much time as possible with him and helping out in his household. We're hopeful but not expecting miracles._

 _I'm not sharing this for sympathy and frankly, I don't want or need it—I'm one of those weird people who only feels worse when people start goin' on about how sorry they are something's happening. I've shared this news_ _so y'all have forewarning. I don't update this story often as it is, and there'll be a full-scale hiatus sometime in the future affecting all stories; I don't know when this will happen and I don't know how long it will last. My relative is undergoing chemo and radiation treatment and the cancer has stopped spreading further but we don't know how long he has. F_ _or now, I'm updating as much as I can because I know as things get worse I won't be able to write._ _In the meantime, enjoy the new chapter and cherish your loved ones…and I'm sure it won't convince anyone anyway, but if you smoke and have considered quitting, QUIT. If you've quit in the past and gone back to it, try again and keep trying until you make it—it's a struggle, but your family will pay the price if you let tobacco rule your life._

 _This chapter dedicated to_ **Flint and Feather** _for reviewing every chapter of this story and several of its related one-shots and_ **AughraOfEarth** _for her encouraging reviews._

 ** _[Suggested listening: Toad the Wet Sprocket, "Good Intentions," Frank Sinatra "The Moon Got In My Eyes"]_**

* * *

 **2: A Deeper Problem**

Amber was always somewhat old-fashioned but she wasn't known for getting all gussied up for nothing. The only exception - work - was greeted with long skirts, pressed blouses, nylon stockings, and pumps or flats; this was how she'd always dressed, and some habits die hard. Come ten am on her first day of work, though, she was begrudgingly considering a change. Her preferred work attire wasn't ideal for breaking down doors.

Twice she'd checked the door number with a passerby, twice she'd asked why the door was locked, and twice she'd been told the same things: Yes, that was her office, no, the door isn't locked, and yes, she did look a hot mess. She never asked their opinion on that front, but since when has not asking ever stopped anyone? With no explanation of why the door wouldn't open and no offers for help, she resorted to throwing herself against the door with all her might. After a particularly hard lunge—and cracking her head on the doorframe—she suddenly heard someone behind her clear their throat. She fell back against the cold door with her normally neat carrot red hair falling in disarray and blew her bangs out of her eyes.

"Problem?" Hellboy asked innocently, a twitch of the very tip of his tail the only sign he was amused. Amber groaned and dug her hand into her hair, tugging at the roots.

"Door's not locked," she grumbled to the floor. Screw being professional...she needed a shower, a massage, a cup of hot tea, and her bed, in that order. "Still won't open."

Hellboy glanced pointedly at the middle of the door—or, rather, the mail slot. Instead of voicing any number of snide remarks on the tip of his tongue, he bent down, glanced through the mail slot, and snorted in amusement. Straightened up again, he set his shoulder to the door and gave it a single firm shove. Without saying a word to the stunned woman he snagged the rubber doorstop, jammed it into the door jam, and let go. Despite the doorstop, the door started to cave outward again, leaving just barely enough room to squish through. "Good luck, Kid," he grinned, and with a mock salute, turned to continue on his way looking far more innocent than he probably was. This wasn't Amber's first rodeo, though; she learned years ago to expect a degree of manager-hazing when taking on a new crew.

All it took was getting her head through the door and the bottom fell out of her stomach; she stared in dismay through the small gap in the door. Now the problem was obvious. In the time since Manning's dramatic exit, piles upon piles upon piles of garbage had been shoved through the mail slot; the whole room was clogged with garbage, the majority collected behind the door to the point of compressing it shut. With her wide hips and full bust, Amber barely made it through the small gap, but even then she had no idea what to do. Papers—wrappers—discarded towels and tissues—refuse of every sort had been shoved through the slot in the door in protest. Manager hazing she expected; this, however, was beyond hazing…this was evidence of a much deeper problem than losing a trusted leader.

She had her work cut out for her, that much was certain.

* * *

It took half the day, but finally Amber made a dent in the destroyed office: she could reach the desk. Outside the door, huge black bags of rubbish lined the wall like soldiers up for inspection.

Everything about the situation rubbed her wrong. The office wasn't large but it was appointed with extravagant, overpriced furnishings. Everything reeked of cigar smoke. The only appliances remaining were an enormous flat screen monitor, an even larger wall-mounted flat screen TV opposite the desk, an expensive satellite radio, and a luxury-brand single-serving coffee machine. Exhausted from clearing out the garbage she sank into the fancy leather desk chair; almost immediately her elbows sank onto the glass desktop, her head into her hands, and her fingers into her frazzled-beyond-bothering hair.

Not even a day on the job, and she was already considering quitting. One thing stopped her, though—Amber Wynden Willow Jr, MD, was _not_ a _quitter._ If anything, she was stubborn and defiant. It would take more than a trashed office to send her packing. Still…She choked up. Unbidden, she recalled the events of the morning. Deep blue eyes full of distrust, disgust, and even more defiance than she could muster. For the first time in years, the wind in her heart was silent and still; she didn't even know the man, but his anger made her feel empty. Tears stung her eyes. For just a moment she felt like a little girl again—the little girl who tried with all her heart to make her aunt A proud only to have the air stolen from her lungs in punishment. As if everything else weren't bad enough…Finally, she bit the bullet—she dug out her cell phone, dialed a number she knew by heart, and waited.

Mothers could fix anything.

"Ya've reached the Tipsy Willow, this's Daisy speakin.'" For a moment the swelling in her heart wouldn't let Amber speak. "'Lo? Y'all boot dialin' on me?" Daisy leaned away from the phone and asked someone—likely her soft-spoken husband—"it _is_ boot-dialin', right? No? –Now, why the hell'd anyone die'l'a phone with'eir ass?!" Daisy turned back and grumbled into the phone again. "Whaddaya need?" Amber could only get out a single choked word.

"Mom…" Everything went silent on the other end of the line as the other woman ducked into a quiet room. "Mom, it's—it's Amber."

"I know who y'are, Sugar," Daisy shushed. "I ain't got that many kids who call from a withheld number half-cryin', y'know. Most of'em jus' git drunk an' call fer a lift. Glad I ne'er had ta deal with that with you, right?" Amber laughed weakly. "Now you tell me all about it, Hon…I'm less'nen."

Anyone who might've listened in on the conversation might've taken it at face value but things are rarely as they seem. Amber's mother was dead—long dead—and raised by a close relative. Elder Daisy Willow was well known for taking in orphans, lost-causes, troubled teens, and every stray she could get her hands on, and Amber was only one of a multitude. Though they were only distantly related by blood and hadn't seen one another in years, the bond was stronger than ever.

Without further delay, Amber spilled it all—her sudden flight from Jefferson City, receiving a job offer up north, arriving to find her new office a complete mess…and making a horrible, horrible first impression. Daisy made all the right comments and all the right sounds at all the right times even as Amber unloaded months of stress for her to hear; despite her brusque attitude, she didn't mind.

"I…" Amber forced a swallow rubbing at stinging hazel eyes. "…I don't know if I can do this—maybe I'm in over my head! And…and…Al-leesh-sha—" A barely restrained sob staggered the name. "She's—David—these're his people! I—"

"Wait, whaddaya mean 'his people?" Daisy interrupted seriously. "Ya mean…" Though Amber couldn't see, she turned to scan for listening ears before continuing, "Woof?" Amber scoffed weakly.

"Ma, they're not werewolves…although there _is a Lycan in the ranks."_ She scrubbed through her hair again, heaving a frustrated sigh through her nose. "The ranks're full of Elementals, skilled humans, and beings even we knew nothing about—and apparently B adopted one of them, raised him from a child." Amber shook off a memory of sad dark eyes and perpetually mussed brown hair, their owner waving goodbye as his train gathered speed. "Alesha's gone and so's her husband—how can I work with people who'll remind me of David, of her?"

"Easy," Daisy answered sternly. "Ya'll take it one minute at a time, one hour at a time, one day at a time, an' by the time ya get to years, ya'll have the hang of it. If Broom asked fer ya by name, Windy, he knows ya can do the job an' do it right. Trust'im, okay? You can do this…we _know_ ya can."

"Okay, Ma." Amber sniffed, scrubbing the stinging away from her eyes. "I'll try—I'm sure they'd rather I just quit now, but by God, I'll try."

"'At's my girl." Though many miles and states stood between them, Amber heard her adoptive mother's grin without fail. "Now wipe off ya cheeks, git'cherself a cuppa tea, an' grab that bull by the horns! An' don't worry…I won't tell no one but Seb an' Raina. What Ashlyn don't know won't reach that bitch sister'a ours, an' what she don't know can't hurt ya." As the two women exchanged love and goodbyes, Amber hoped against all hope that Daisy was right.

Her very breath depended on it.

* * *

 _"Trevor Broom,_ I'm'onna _kick_ _yer ASS_ fer this!" Between shouting threats into the phone, the tall chunky Latina darted from one end of Lab 5 to the other snatching up everything that could point to her identity—photos with coworkers, handwritten notes, scribbled work orders, a stained coffee cup full of DNA evidence—everything was thrown haphazardly into a giant cardboard moving box. "I quit! I fuckin' quit! Ya di'n't tell me ya hired _Windy!_ She thinks I'm fuckin' _dead_ , remember?!" The brim of her much beloved worn green John Deere hat whacked into a low shelf as she scrabbled to yank the keyboard plug out of its socket; fingerprints could be found all over the lab, but mid-panic, she wasn't thinking very clearly.

"Now, now, Alesha," the professor placated.

"Don' you 'Alesha' me!" she interrupted, then spun to grab yet another item and wound up whacking herself in the face with her long coffee brown ponytail. _"Shit!_ I was never here—I'm buried in Branson—that's the story, now swear it!" Suddenly she froze, dark brown eyes practically bulging out of their sockets; through the frosted glass of the lab door, she could see a familiar head of carrot red hair hovering. _Amber…_ she was too late. In a fit of temper she ripped off her hat and flung it across the room, but it didn't make her feel any better. Her shoulders slumped in dismay. "Damn you, Broom," she muttered into the phone. "Damn ya ta every single hell ever contemplated, _especially_ all the _Chinese ones -_ they gotta _lotta hells._ "

"Instead of being _childish_ , Alesha, let this be a lesson—you can run from your troubles, but they'll always find—" Not wanting to hear the same line again, she hung up, dropped the box roughly onto the nearest workbench, and slouched over to her favorite swivel stool. She loved the professor, God knows she did, but sometimes she just wanted to wring his neck.

For what seemed like years, she sat perched on the cushion spinning herself back and forth out of nerves, then finally, a knock came. "C'mon in," she grumbled; it was time to face the music, but she sure as Hell wasn't gonna dance to it! Amber hesitantly pushed the door open a way, peeked around the corner, and wandered inside. At the sight of the empty lab—or, rather, the green cap lying discarded on an unplugged keyboard—her heart stopped. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Amber turned wide-eyed to follow the trajectory of the throw, and when they landed on the sulking Latina, her lip started quivering.

"Hey, Windy," Alesha mumbled avoiding her eyes. "How've ya—!" The greeting turned into a frantic squawk as the redhead ran for her, and before Alesha knew what to think, she was tackled and smothered in that red hair. "A-Am-ber!" she choked out trying to free her throat from the over-zealous hug. "Si- _Sis,_ yer— _chokin'_ —me!" That warning seemed to do the trick; Amber backed away and Alesha gulped lung-fuls of air like a drowning woman brought to shore. "Hi."

"Al…" Amber murmured looking her over like she was about to be torn away again. Never before was Alesha so distinctly aware of her weight. When she left Branson—and the family who'd adopted her—she was curvy but fit and among the top in her classes. After years of living on coffee, sugar, peppermints, and junk food she'd dropped out as a field agent and joined the maintenance staff full-time, a decision that kept her alive but packed on the pounds. Though she was six-foot-six barefoot, she was almost fifty pounds beyond a healthy weight. Amber, however, looked the same as she always had; her curvy figure hadn't swelled, her hair hadn't been cut or grown out, she still wore the same style glasses—she hadn't even changed the way she dressed or wore her makeup! The lack of change was both comforting and infuriating.

"You're—You're alive, Al!" Amber stammered. "How…but you…I thought…?" Her face fell, her heart crushed. "You weren't dead at all…we buried an empty casket." Alesha squirmed, fidgeting with a fraying thread at the hem of her green collared shirt.

"Well, uh…technically…yeah. I wanted a new life, but the old me had ta die first. The Bureau helped…B's never let me live it down. I keep tellin'im he's a hypocrite fer it, but he jus' gives me that hard stare'a his." Years of separation stagnated the air in the small lab. "Fer what it's worth…I'm sorry. Dyin' ain't somethin' ya can undo, no matter how much ya regret it afterward." Amber's painted lips frowned.

"Dinner tonight?" she asked softly. "You can tell me all about it then, right?" The brunette nodded glumly, not looking forward to the tell-all one bit. "B said I needed to come pick up a tracker, whatever that is." Finally, things were working in Alesha's favor; mechanics were always her strong point. With a lopsided smile, she dug through her cardboard box, then tossed a small electronic device to Amber who barely caught it. The redhead examined it curiously, trying to figure it out.

"Press the button," Alesha suggested with a grin that widened into a smirk when the LED bulb lit, revealing the shiny glassy portion to be an amber colored lens. Broom had requested a lens the color of Amber's eyes and she'd provided without question; subconsciously she glanced back and forth from the glowing beacon to the eyes it was inspired by, confident that she managed to match it. "If yer ever sent out in the field, you'll need that fer safety—it's got a GPS locater built in an' a distress beacon in case'a emergencies."

Though a lifetime of unspoken words hung between them, Alesha made her way over and pulled Amber into a tight embrace that said it all. "Welcome aboard, Windy," she beamed. "If anyone can pull us out'a the shithole we're stuck in, you can."

* * *

Around six, Abraham slunk down the residential hallway toward the cafeteria. His thoughts were in a turmoil from the incident that morning had marked him deeply, leaving him unable to concentrate on anything at all…except the memory of the hurt in those honey-golden eyes as he threw everything he had into chasing that woman away from the BPRD…and him. Without even realizing he was doing so, he passed the turn he needed to get to the cafeteria and neared Manning's old suite. As he approached it, though, he began to pick up the sounds of a stereo playing…and the scent of lime and vanilla candles. Finally, he was close enough to hear the words of the song clearly, and he paused a moment, listening intently.

" _Out of the darkness, you suddenly appeared. You smiled, I was taken by surprise. I guess I should have seen right through you, But the moon got in my eyes. I was so thrilled by the love you volunteered, I gave my heart without a compromise. I guess you don't remember, do you? When the moon got in my eyes."_

Ah. The door to the executive suite was propped wide open. Clearly that 'Amber' woman was getting herself settled in, and airing the reek of cigar smoke out of the room at the same time. "Why is she still here?" he murmured.

" _I thought a kingdom was in sight I would have the right to claim, But with the morning's early light I didn't have a dream to my name. You know the saying, 'All who love are blind'…It seems that ancient adage still applies. I guess I should have seen right through you, But the moon got in my eyes._

He'd heard that song before…where? Oh right, the Professor had a soft spot for Sinatra—the track was one of his favorites. If he'd needed any more proof that that Amber woman was bad news, this was perfect; she was even playing Broom's favorite music in hopes of worming her way into his confidence.

" _I thought a kingdom was in sight I would have the right to claim, But with the morning's early light, I didn't have a dream to my name. You know the saying, 'All who love are blind'…It seems that ancient adage still applies. I guess I should have seen right through you, But the moon got in my eyes""_

Abe slowly, cautiously approached the door as the song trailed off, the player shuffling to something by Billie Holiday. Peeking warily around the corner into the small living room, he saw Amber moving slowly from here to there around the bedroom, putting away items from her over-sized suitcase and the boxes that had already been delivered. She seemed to be concentrating very hard on what she was doing, he mused. On her bed, a laptop played the music he was hearing while running an anti-virus scan.

Abe didn't notice the bundled up empty duffle bag shakily suspended in mid-air near the bed, as it was almost to the ceiling. He did notice that she'd changed clothes. No longer in her work clothing, she wore black cotton slacks and an old green tee shirt; her feet were bare, the nails decorated with chipped taupe polish. Her hair had been pulled back into a haphazard bun, leaving the shorter layers to fall loosely around her face and neck in wispy locks and fly-aways. As he saw her now, Amber appeared harmless—nothing more than a tired woman who had been under too much stress, and tended to lose her temper at inconvenient times. The moment the thought formed, he turned to leave.

A flash of color in her parlor caught his eye. Standing against the wall opposite the doorway was an oil painting in a polished ebony frame. On a background of wispy grey clouds, an artistic rendition of the yin yang hung proudly. Yin was formed of a towering wave of water, while Yang was formed of a crackling fiery blaze. In the thick of the fire hung a broad ring of watery blue, surrounding a wavy grey center. On the grey background was the symbol for Ohm in the same blue pattern. In the base of the rising wave hung a corresponding image—a burning ring with a flaming Ohm symbol and the same grey background. Below the image, a curling ivory scroll held two lines of skillfully painted text Abe could just barely make out: _In the absence of a balance Chaos prevails. Find that Balance and success will be yours._ At the bottom right, the artist had signed it _Jazz Willow._ Intriguing, he mused silently. The painting and statement had to be symbolic…but for what?

The song trailed off; the stereo whirred, shuffling to the next track. Amber was putting away what looked suspiciously like undergarments when she suddenly went rigid. Abe reflexively ducked back around the corner into the hall, where she wouldn't see him. Amber switched off the music, and slowly approached the door between the living room and bedroom with fear in her eyes. Abe held his breath. It just wouldn't do to have her find him spying on her after what he'd heard and what he'd said. A few moments passed, Amber scanning the living room from her position and listening intently. Abe's eyes widened in surprise when he felt a soft, barely noticeable current of cool air waft from the living room out into the hall. He stepped back enough to escape it, wondering what it was. Finally, the air current warmed and dissipated; Amber sighed in apparent relief, as though convinced a danger was passed. A soft thud from the bedroom made her jump.

" _Shoot!_ " she swore, whipping about and scowling at a piece of luggage that had been tossed beside the bed. She loosed an exasperated sigh, shaking her head. Abe hazarded a glance around the doorframe to make sure she was all right. Finally satisfied, he turned to leave for his original destination. Halfway there, though, he paused, shook his head, and turned back toward Amber's doorway.

'Strange…' he realized in disbelief. 'I don't recall seeing that bag there, earlier…?' Brooding silently, he resumed his trek to the cafeteria, confused as could be, and trying to put the pieces together regarding the strange new Supervisor. Unfortunately, though, the pieces were tiny, few, and random…and none seemed to fit together, no matter which way he turned them. 'She definitely knows more than she's letting on…that alone means she's trouble.'

* * *

 **A final note:**

 **Since no one guessed the connection between the books in the last chapter, here's the answer:**

 _Set 1 all included a troubled romance as an important part of the plot._

 ***1:** In **Pride and Prejudice** , there are two main romances: Lizzy and Mr. Darcy and Jane and Mr. Bingly. Darcy and Lizzy have a horrible first meeting and spend the entire book fighting each other AND fighting the growing attraction between them, while Jane and Bingly wind up being torn apart by someone who feels shy Jane doesn't truly care for Bingly.  
 ***2:** In **Jane Eyre** , Jane takes on a position as a governess and teacher in the household of Mr. Edward Rochester, tutoring his illegitimate daughter. Jane finds herself falling in love with him and consents to marry him only to receive dreadful news on their wedding day - he's already married, albeit to a madwoman who is completely beyond communication and has a habit of trying to kill him and anyone who goes near her.  
 ***3:** In **The Scarlet Letter** , Hester believed her husband dead, had an affair, and wound up pregnant but refused to name the father. As a result, she was ostracized from the rest of the town and forced to wear a cloth badge that represented her crime.  
 ***4:** In **Flowers for Algernon** , a mentally challenged man undergoes an experimental surgery - successfully tested on a lab mouse named Algernon - and his intelligence is drastically increased over a matter of months; he falls in love with Alice, the woman who was previously teaching him how to read, but their relationship is very rocky and interspersed with infidelity and drama.

 _Set 2's common theme is, quite simply, they all involve well-intentioned or seemingly inconsequential actions that result in absolute DISASTER, everything goes to Heck in a handbasket, and they all have sad or disturbing endings._

 ***1: The Scarlet Letter** ends with two deaths - both the long-absent husband and the man Hester had her affair with. Hester returned to her reclusive lifestyle and eventually was buried next to her lover at a tombstone that forever reminds of their crime by description of the badge she'd worn in punishment.

 ***2:** As **Flowers for Algernon** comes to a close Charlie begins rapidly regressing to his previous intelligence capacity - as Algernon did before dying - and though he was at one time more intelligent than the scientists who performed the surgery on him, Charlie ends up back where he started. He breaks off his love affair with Alice and leaves town, unwilling to see the pity in the eyes of those who knew him.  
 ***3: Animal Farm** is a wonderful tale of certain events in Russia's history portrayed by a farm of animals; it's short, easy, and I've actually worn out copies of it before. Though the animals wanted freedom from tyranny, slavery, and ill-treatment, they wind up right back where they started, all at the hands of one of their own.  
 ***4:** I'll readily confess that I've never _read_ **A Clockwork Orange** but I _have_ watched the film; I'm forever scarred by it - specifically by the excessive, glorified violence and overly graphic r*** scene. Alex - gang member, murderer, rapist, sociopath, and all around scumbag - is caught, imprisoned, and in return for a shorter sentence, agrees to undergo an experimental new form of aversion therapy. The procedure renders him incapable of violence and ill at the thought of any sexual activity, and unable to stomach listening to his favorite music which was used as the sound track. He is released but the aversion therapy was intended to cure Alex's sociopathy and lower the crime rate but instead only resulted in more crime and suffering from those Alex had wronged and him being unable to defend himself. Unable to handle it, he tries to kill himself, survives despite a blow to the head, and wakes up completely cured of the constrictions from the therapy, already considering his next crime.

 ** _As I said, good intentions and heck in a handbasket._**


	4. non-chapter update

**THIS IS NOT A NEW CHAPTER!**

 **THIS IS JUST AN UPDATE FROM A GHOST WRITER AT HER WITS' END!**

Hey, folks! Hope everyone's doing great out there. I'm just dropping in to give y'all a quick update on some of the stories I haven't been able to get anything written for lately. I'm not going to dump or give y'all the boohoo-poor-me song and dance, but I do have a few points to make.

I'm not _abandoning_ any of my stories, I'm just having to temporarily put some them aside as a result of stress, difficulty, lack of time, and errant muses. Some stories are still getting updated SOMEWHAT regularly, but a lot are being put on an indefinite hold. Details to follow. As always, I WILL NOT simply abandon a story without at the very least saying "Whoops, looks like this one croaked, here's what was gonna happen, have fun with the scribbles."

The less entertaining point, to put it simply, is that Real Life is absolutely crap right now. My hometown's getting unsafe, my home country's a ticking time bomb, and my family are about ready to kill each other. Especially with the holidays coming up, there's not enough booze or sugar on the face of the earth to keep things from escalating. I'm now officially unemployed - due to a combination of family drama, increasingly frequent panic attacks, and because my former boss was delusional enough to think I'd still work for him even after he stopped paying me for the work. (I drew the line at a month of non-payment - he didn't foresee starting up my wages again at any time soon and I didn't foresee myself putting up with his creepy 'I watch you sleep' stares without monetary compensation...or jail time. Needless to say I've put off finding new work for many reasons and have been focusing on family and my novel.

Aside from that drama, there's still the issue that sparked the impending 'grief' hiatus, too. I explained before that a relative of mine has been undergoing chemo for terminal cancer, and that hasn't changed - he's still alive, still needing a lot of help from me all the time, and still getting worse. Honestly, I love him to bits but he's always been hard to get along with - I'm the only person in the family who can endure his behavior and attitude without getting drunk or breaking his teeth...lucky me. The cancer metastasized (sp?) into his brain has been tipping him further and further into insanity, and at risk of sounding 'insensitive,' most of us have come to the conclusion that he's trying to get himself killed before he dies. It's NOT a good situation and it's just getting worse.

...but I digress. Anyway, I'm slapping this note onto stories that are being put on the back-burner and will be putting hiatus notes on the most-neglected. These stories - which are NOT being abandoned, just set aside for the time - are the following:

A Match Made in Metal - no updates in over a year; my Megamind muse has been comatose for nearly that whole time and so far, she's not lookin' too good. I may actually have to bury this one. This story is the least likely to be updated before the noted grief hiatus occurs.

Homeless Hearts \- got an update in March but no change since then; my Naruto muse is currently hiding in the closet...at least I THINK he's still there...if not, he fooled me by leaving his sandals out. Slightly more likely to be updated before hiatus but still not likely.

A Breath of Fresh Air, The Moments in Time series, and all other Elementals related works - BoFA was updated in February, but it's been a donkey's age since I got anything done for MiT or the other (unposted) installments of Elementals. Hellboy muse is still alive and kicking - or at least unconscious and twitching. This story is the most likely of the three to be updated before the hiatus occurs, as the next chapter has got some work done on it. (about half, maybe...?)

A New Lease on Life is still being updated more regularly than any other story in my catalog - it's infrequent at times, but you can rest assured that the waits will always result in decent updates. Plus, things are really heating up in the storyline (as it's past the thirties) and we'll soon get past the drama to the warm-an'-fuzzies. I'll be adding a new chapter soon, in fact, possibly in the next couple weeks. If you're into the Ninja Turtles fandom and haven't hit this story up yet, please, for your own sake fix that shit. Seriously.

A New Lease on Life: Gallery of Memories is already, by nature, not frequently updated. The whole point of this story is to provide a shout-out and thank-you to my readers when they push ANLoL past another views/reviews/comments/kudos milestone - each milestone in ANLoL is marked by a new standalone chapter in GoM. Unless I'm mistaken, this story is currently caught up on all milestones with no backlog.

Serendipity: Shifting the Paradigm is getting updated more slowly than the other two, but it's still being worked on at least monthly. Currently it's still in that awkward and random preliminary stage but it's always got plenty of laughs. Dragon Ball Z fans can always look forward to plenty of awkward humor and stubborn characters, and now we're getting some guardian-stalking going on!

Finally, these stories are pretty new but are getting worked on somewhat regularly

A New Lease on Life: Blocked - this ANLoL 'side-story' is actually a totally-not-serious PARODY of the storyline. I started this SI crack farce to help fight off a particularly vicious bout of writer's block and am occasionally kicking around bits for posting. This little travesty features fat cats, a socially awkward writer, and a million reasons why truth and fiction shouldn't mix. Check it out if you need a laugh.

The Demon King and the Half-Breed Hermit \- this one's new - at least online - and has a short queue of chapters completed and ready for posting. If you're tired of waiting for StP to get updated or just want to see Aubrey repeatedly poison Piccolo, give it a look.

Lastly, I'm still open for commissions on DeviantArt for cover art and concept art, and now would be a really great time for someone to someone to patronize me - I mean 'commission a piece' from me. Thanks for your time and patience, and I hope things are soon less crazy.

~Ghost Chance


	5. 3: The Over-Achiever & the Arrogant Ass

_Great news, Folks! BoFA won the "New Chapter Lottery!" ...okay, fine, I listened to way too much Blue Oyster Cult and Frank Sinatra and this is what happened, so sue me...at least it got that half-chapter finished, right?_ _I'm not gonna declare my Hellboy muse fully recovered but it's certainly twitching more frequently. Sorry about the ungodly long wait, and I hope this chapter satisfies in the meantime!_

 _Starting in this chapter you'll be seeing more new players, some important, some not-so-important_ _—_ _if you get confused about the noobs, no worries, I've included a brief glossary at the end so you know who you need to know and who you don't need to know yet. You'll also begin seeing some instances of psychic communication - specifically Abe picking up the thoughts of others. Incidents of psychic communication will be marked by italics and flanked with ~ marks to differentiate from speech and thoughts._

 _ **Warnings** in this one for a little more language than usual, a warning for Al and Ellie, (trust me, those two need their own warning) and minor warning for some slight suggestiveness in a dream-sequence. (I've posted much, MUCH more graphic stuff in_ **A New Lease on Life** , _but whatever, right? Different fandom, different rules to break.) This chapter dedicated to anyone who can actually understand what Elysia's saying the first time without squinting. Also dedicated to_ **Silversun XD** and **2Fast-2Think** _for inspiring me to get this chapter cranked out!_

 ** _Suggested Listening: Nickelback "Someday," Rush "Open Secrets," Cage the Elephant "Trouble"_**

* * *

 **3: The Over-Achiever and the Arrogant Ass**

Monday morning began much like any other weekday at the Bureau, but shortly after ten o'clock, all normality was gone. After all, a major staff change just occurred, which meant a mandatory staff meeting. Since the new employee was the director, the meeting had to include more people than usual.

At ten o'clock sharp, the highest ranking employees from every department piled into the largest conference room onsite. _Blacksuits_ and _Assets_ compared notes while waiting; _Field agents_ rubbed elbows with _Research and Development techs._ Even the _Security, Personnel Management,_ and _Maintenance_ forces weren't exempt from the hassle, and many loudly proclaimed it a waste of their precious time.

From her position at the _Maintenance and R &D table,_ Alesha Woods studied the predominantly irritable agents milling around the long tables filling the conference room. She'd attended many such meetings, including change-of-staff meetings, but this one was different…this time, her adopted sister was about to pay for the crimes of another. Tom Manning's long reign threw the Bureau into chaos and left its employees jaded and bitter, and unwilling to trust those in charge. Even without Alesha's psychokinetic abilities—the abilities of a Control type Spirit Elemental—she could have felt the tension in the air.

"Theys ain't gon' get any beyta, es it?" Startled from her thoughts, she turned to greet the speaker. The woman had long, static-packed blonde hair and big grey eyes blocked by rose-tinted glasses, and wore a particularly appalling pink scrub shirt—Elysia Palmer was Alesha's partner in crime, head of the Maintenance crew, and an Electric-type Elemental. Despite their lack of blood relation, both were part of the same clan as Amber—the Willow clan—and both knew Amber was still in the closet about her Elemental abilities. "They' gon' tear'er up, huh?"

"At this rate?" Al mumbled back, unbothered by the other woman's thick, ambiguous accent. Ellie was a bit of a troll and tended to switch up her fake accent frequently just to throw people off, but if it was ignored, she didn't bother. _"Yeah._ Windy ain't gonna know what hit'er. I tried tellin'er last night…she thought I was exaggeratin'." Suddenly catching sight of a familiar face the next table over, she gave a slightly manic grin. _"Oi!"_ she heckled Hellboy. "Who lech' _yer_ ass out'a the dungeon, _Vermilla-Gorilla?_ I was enjoyin' the _quiet!"_

"Same guys who let you two out'a the closet," the half-demon teased back as usual. "At least my _dungeon_ has _pamcakes!"_

 _"Pamcakes?_ Aw, man…Maintenance ain't even got _coffee_ half the time…I'm callin' bullshit." Elysia rolled her eyes at the declaration; the maintenance crew's breakroom rarely had any coffee brewed because Alesha practically mainlined it. As the two friends-slash-rivals bickered and childishly teased each other across the aisle—one slapping the other with his tail and throwing wadded paper at her, the other telekinetically 'poking' him and 'flicking' his nose—the last persons arrived. Amita, the bespectacled Accounting and Personnel manager limped even more than usual from the long walk. Sydney Leach quickly joined the Assets table and the bantering between Hellboy and Alesha. Lastly, agent Abe Sapien crossed the threshold and searched for familiar faces in the crowd. Upon reaching the front of the room, he drew up short-confused, conflicted, and concerned.

Amber slumped against a wall near the projector screen, and she looked _terrible_. Her hair was done carelessly, as though she'd simply washed it, let it dry overnight, and put only minimal effort into styling it that morning. Her shoulders were heavily slouched, and her gaze fastened on the floor. Her hazel eyes were dull and hung with shadows that she'd not been able to disguise with makeup. Despite what was clearly a long restless night and early morning, she was again dressed with a professionalism seldom seen anymore—a long coffee-colored skirt, dark nylons, and simple cream-colored blouse. Even with her vintage professional dress, though, she was still visibly tired and stressed.

Seeing her in such bad shape, Abe wondered how much worse things would have been if he'd told the others the details about her outburst in the Professor's office. He hadn't said a word of the incident upon return to the library, almost immediately retreating to his tank for the afternoon. Although he couldn't let go of the slight entirely, Abe was beginning to regret his passive-aggressive response to it. Perhaps she really was just tired and stressed, but no amount of fatigue and irritation could excuse comparing his companions to a sideshow.

Attempting to reach a truce with the new supervisor, Abe cleared his throat as he approached her. Her eyes met his, but she clearly felt worse for it—the moment she recognized him, her exhaustion shifted into regret before being visibly smothered in professional detachment. In that brief moment between weariness and distance, she looked more like a kicked puppy than the professional she supposedly was. "Good morning, Miss," he said politely as he nodded a greeting. She startled somewhat at his unexpectedly civil tone but smiled almost ruefully. The smile didn't quite reach her eyes, fading just beyond her scarlet-painted lips.

"Good morning, Agent Sapien." Her voice was quiet, the odd accent he heard in the professor's office fully suppressed. Was she afraid of him now, Abe wondered? She obviously had not feared him before, as she let him help her up from the floor after Hellboy tackled her. She didn't show fear in Broom's office, either, just regret, humiliation, and pain. However, he realized, she now had reason to fear him, if only in the slightest. Perhaps he misjudged her…perhaps he over-reacted.

"They know nothing of our disagreement, Miss," he replied, lowering his voice significantly to avoid others overhearing. "You have a fresh slate with them."

"…but not with you…" she acknowledged slowly.

"What is said cannot be unsaid," he answered without emphasis. "It _can_ be forgiven, but only if you make an effort to earn such." Her eyes widened somewhat—in confusion or in offense he wondered? "Prove yourself worthy of it and you have as blank a slate as I can provide." Finally, her red-painted lips tilted upward, though in a forced smile; perhaps she _was_ more offended than confused.

"Regardless of your impression of me, Agent," she answered dryly. "I'm _not_ one to take advantage of my post to clean up after _my mouth._ I will make it up to you, but my plans remain unchanged." Confused by her cryptic reply, Abe fought the urge to investigate with his psychic gifts. After all, she was the source of the conflict, but spying on her thoughts would make him no better than her, wouldn't it? She started for the front-most table but looked over her shoulder at him. "Thank you." He nodded curtly in response, taking his seat. Hellboy, at his left, stared at him curiously; he shook his head, his expression letting the half-demon know that he did _not_ want to talk about it.

As Amber gathered her notes and distributed paperwork to each table, Professor Broom shuffled into the conference room. She greeted him with a warm smile and pulled a chair out for him…her chair. "Uh, Ma'am?" John Meyers pointed out hesitantly. "If you're the new director, that's _your_ seat. She turned to address him.

"What's your name, Agent?" He paled somewhat at the question, wondering if he'd overstepped the boundaries. "You're not in trouble..." she chuckled. "I'd merely like to know whom I'm addressing."

"Agent…Meyers, Ma'am," he responded hesitantly.

"Good to meet you, Agent Meyers," Amber replied passing him the paperwork for his table. "Normally, the Director would command that seat, but it seems the other tables are full; B— _Professor Broom_ requires a seat and I'm quite comfortable standing." Seeing the professor settled she paced toward the podium again, her dark nylons zipping with each step. "I'm sure you are all aware by now," she began, addressing the whole room calmly but firmly, "Director Thomas Manning has been removed from his post. I am Dr. Amber Wynden Willow Jr…his replacement."

A few barely stifled snickers broke the silence—surely regarding the state of her office on her first day—but Amber gave no notice other than a raised eyebrow. "Before we get down to business, I'd like to express my gratitude for all the lovely _welcome gifts_ left in my office." The room went completely silent, and by their frozen expressions, Amber easily determined the attendants who contributed the most to her trashed office. Comparing the guilty faces to the countless files she pored over the night before, she made a mental note to keep close tabs on each of them…and to make a habit of scheduling their appointments at very inconvenient times. Two could play at that game, and the childish riffraff were about to realize her player stats beat theirs. "Finding such an _enthusiastic_ welcome was quite…" She let the statement hang a moment, taking in a pointed breath through her nose. _"_ _…_ _enlightening._ I can already see just how _well_ we're all going to get along." Her painted lips curled into a poisonously sweet smile, she met the eyes of each guilty face in turn.

All around the conference room, the gathered agents exchanged nervous glances and cringes. It started like any other weekday, but this was already a Monday to beat all others.

* * *

"That was _awesome,"_ Alesha laughed into her coffee mug. "Ya prob'ly made half the security team _piss_ 'emselves!" Amber's nose crinkled at the crude statement.

"That was not my intention," she reminded Al, staring down into her teacup. Her office still stank of trash underneath the vanilla and citrus candle burning nearby, but at least it was clean. "If I expressed anger, the perpetrators would have what they wanted. I'm used to power struggles, it's nothing new. Their behavior was juvenile, yes, but this is nothing like my first year at the emergency clinic I just left behind—I'm more than used to hazing from new employees."

"I know there's a story in there," the Latina remarked with a lopsided smile.

"That clinic was a nightmare I'd rather forget, honestly," the redhead answered dryly. "The previous supervisor didn't keep their records accordingly and the most vital supplies were always low from theft. By my first week, I had restraining orders against the lead RN and one of the nursing techs on account of threats…they barely got to keep their jobs. Five other staff, including the pharmacist, were _fired_ and most of those five were also _arrested."_ She scowled down into her milky tea, recalling too-vividly how the pharmacist and two other staff members were found guilty of prescription drug fraud and peddling stolen opioids on the sly. "A year went by before I could do my job without being threatened and blocked at every move…that group was a _nightmare."_

A sudden beeping startled the two women. Al glanced down to her pager, sighed at the name displayed on the screen, and gulped down the last of her coffee. "Well," she grumbled standing and straightening a crick out of her neck. "Break's over…better get back to the salt mines, huh? Yer meeting with all the non-Elemental Assets next, right?"

Amber hesitated, torn between two paths—the path expected of her and the one she was sure she'd wind up following despite it. "No," she answered quietly. "Actually, I thought it might be more effective to meet with them individually…after all, they suffered the most from my predecessor's poor choices. People are usually more likely to vent their frustrations calmly when they don't have a mob backing them up." Alesha laughed, shaking her head at the thought.

"Ya act like yer expectin' torches an' pitchforks, Sis," she teased.

"After what they did to this office, it wouldn't surprise me," Amber grumbled, digging her fingers into her loose hair. "I know little of this _Manning_ person, but already, what I've found about him makes me feel like…" She caught herself before the threat could sneak past her lips, sucked in a sharp breath between her teeth, then sighed it back out. "—like doing something entirely uncivilized," she amended weakly. "I'm not entirely certain that I have what it takes to fix his mess…but I'm not giving up." One hand on the doorknob, Alesha sobered, her dark eyes saying far more than her lips ever would.

"Ya've tackled rougher situations before, Windy," she reminded opening the office door, "an' ya always come out on top, ya always git the place straightened out before ya move on. He drives me up the wall sometimes, but if Broom says you kin do it, you kin do it." She cracked another of the wide, lopsided grins she was practically infamous for around the Bureau. "Whatever happens, Windy, I've gotcher back, as always. Good luck…an' don't let Hellboy boss ya'round."

As the outspoken and awkward Latina vacated the office with a wry smirk, Amber found herself lost in thought. Hellboy wasn't the one she was worried about. Granted, he seemed rather immature and a bit on the rambunctious side, maybe even a little bull-headed, but Amber was no stranger to such behavior. Her little sister was far worse than that—far more stubborn and difficult than the half-demon appeared, and she doubted Hellboy had Jasmine's… _bloodline difficulties._ Difficulties…she shook her head, lost in thought and staring angrily down into her tea unaware of her first appointment freezing a couple yards shy of the gaping office door.

Amber was used to difficulties—her whole life was full of challenges, just one struggle after another! How _dare_ that agent imply she had no restraint over a single lapse in temper?! If she had no restraint, she could have killed him on the spot! If she had no restraint, she would have hitched the first cab out the day she arrived and found her office trashed! If she had no restraint, she would never have made it as far as she had—she was good at her job, possibly the only one capable of turning this madhouse around and back into a properly functioning organization! She had restraint—more restraint than she ever let on—that restraint was the only thing keeping her a civilized being rather than a _monster!_

Her mouth got her in trouble more often than she was comfortable with, granted, and she needed to improve her control over her temper, but she wasn't some red-haired hellion raised by wolves! Elder Daisy Willow, Amber and Alesha's surrogate mother, was a wild hair and a little shy of civilized, but she wouldn't have tolerated any ill-behaved children in her house! Amber knew she needed to apologize and would have done so after the meeting— _then_ Abe assumed she had no manners and lectured her on forgiveness being _earned_ , not _granted!_ The _nerve_ of him—the absolute _gall!_

…he had _beautiful_ eyes.

The thought drove the redhead's angry tizzy to a staggering halt. Finally, she realized what her tumultuous mental tangent was causing—framed certificates on the wall now hung crooked, the trash bin was toppled over by her feet, the neatly stacked papers on her desk were in chaotic disarray, and the lime-vanilla candle on her desk was blown out and smoldering. Wind, Amber recalled begrudgingly, was one of the most unstable elements, and even worse, it was the only balance between the next two in instability. The proper application of air could smother fire or calm water but used incorrectly, it could also send them into a blazing inferno or a killer typhoon.

She knew better than this…she knew better than to let her thoughts roam like she had, and definitely knew better than to let her control slip like that…little lapses of control were acceptable for other people, but not for her—not for those who could kill with the slightest moment of weakness. Amidst her mental berating and feeble attempts at righting her desk, though, her mind drifted again. She made a horrible first impression, granted, but Agent Sapien hadn't done much better in his second impression.

He really _did_ have beautiful eyes—stunning, intelligent eyes bluer than the waters of Lake Taneycomo, and seemingly twice as deep…such a shame those eyes belonged to an _arrogant ass._

Just beyond the open office door, Abe Sapien stared at the new director in absolute befuddlement. It didn't take a psychic to project thoughts and emotions—it was far more unusual for a non-psychic to be able to effectively block or hide their thoughts and emotions. For the psychokinetic agent, the average person's thoughts and emotions registered in some varying degree of intensity, like voices ranging from a whisper to an almost-shout. Just as it could be difficult to discern one soft voice amidst a crowd of others, it took much training to tune into a single source and block out the rest…then someone like that woman came along and _screamed_ her thoughts for all who could hear them. The new Director was clearly not psychic, but neither was she average—her thoughts and emotions registered at an intensity and volume he'd previously never encountered. Even though most of the thoughts he picked up from her made little sense to him, he could easily tell she was irritated—at HIM!—and even more, that she was definitely hiding something.

Without warning, the shuffling of papers in the office fell silent; a slight, cool breeze brushed past Abe, startling him. "You're late, Agent Sapien," Amber pointed out in a blunt, clipped tone before he could even begin to contemplate the strange occurrence. "Our appointment was one-pm on the dot—it's twenty-two after. I certainly hope you won't be making a habit of such tardiness." Already irritable again, Abe swept through the doorway, gave the redhead a curt nod, and contemplated the surprisingly Spartan setup of the room. The only real décor was a framed photo on the desk—Amber, Agent Alesha Woods from Maintenance, an older woman with long, wavy black hair and a toothy smirk, and a younger woman with riotous dark hair and a carefree grin. After how over-decorated the office was when Thomas Manning commanded it, Abe was bewildered by how empty the room seemed. With the state of the office and Amber's irritable thoughts, it never occurred to him to wonder how she knew he was outside her door.

"You seemed preoccupied," Abe pointed out coolly, crossing his arms over his chest at her stoic expression. "I did not want to interrupt you."

"Next time," Amber answered with a warning tone as she collected a pen from the coffee mug on her desk, _"interrupt._ I'm here to _work,_ not _gather wool._ Have a seat and we'll get started." He reluctantly settled himself on the very edge of one of the chairs before the desk, crossing his legs and dutifully keeping his hands folded in his lap. "I appreciate your concern but you needn't block your senses—silencing your intuition is the quickest way to failure." He blinked at her, silently assessing her countenance.

"You've done your homework." It wasn't a question—how else could she know the brunt of his psychic abilities were tied to his hands if she hadn't read his file?

"Despite what you think of me, Agent," Amber remarked slowly, "I'm not completely incapable, nor am I oblivious. It is my job to know and understand those I manage, and I'm not one to shirk my duties and responsibilities over _trivialities."_ The two stared one another down, both waiting for the other to break first, and both waiting for the next movement in this tense verbal chess match.

"What do you consider a triviality?" Amber didn't budge.

"I could ask you the same, _Agent._ Perhaps we can come to an understanding yet…?" Neither broke—neither budged. Silence filled the room, tense and electric.

"You are not speaking of my tardiness or your preparation, are you?" Abe ventured lowly. One carrot-red eyebrow arched up beyond her tortoise-shell frames.

"Are _you_ speaking of such?" she countered. "Personally, I could play these _mind-games_ all day, Agent, but we have important business to discuss…far more important business than a little power-struggle, wouldn't you say?" Abe reluctantly loosened his grip, letting his hands fall to one crossed knee; with the freedom of the air came a new and infuriating psychic warning: _~Don't toy with me, Blue-eyes_ _—_ _ya'll_ _lose.~_ Visibly aware that she let that warning slip, but clearly oblivious to the odd accent coloring it, Amber arched another warning eyebrow at him and tapped her pen against the steno pad before her. "On to business, then?" Rankled and confused, he gave a curt nod. "Now, to start with…tell me about your experiences with the previous director."

Abe startled. "What—Why?" The expression on Amber's face told him she thought it obvious…of course, it also suggested he should have realized it himself.

"Your file states that you sometimes assist with the medical team when one of the Special Asset agents is injured. Am I correct in assuming you've treated gunshot wounds before?" She paused to wait for his nod, then continued. "What basic steps must be taken when treating a gunshot wound?" After a moment of staring at her, searching her face for answers, he finally answered.

"Disinfect all hands, surfaces, and tools. Ascertain whether the bullet passed through or is lodged within the wound. Gently cleanse the wound of any external debris. Remove the bullet and any internal debris. Cleanse the inside of the wound to prevent infection. Stitch if necessary, bandage, and start a course of antibiotics or applicable medication in the case of poisoned or contaminated ammunition." Hazel met blue, the owner of the first serious and the owner of the second bemused.

"Disinfect and Debride. Suture or stabilize. Bind. Post-op preventative treatment." She summed the procedure up quickly and clearly, like someone used to the terminology and process; perhaps he didn't need to dumb it down after all. "This agency was shot in the back, Agent, by someone it trusted. As with any other such wound, the damage cannot be repaired until the debris and dead tissue are cleared away…and the only way to ready the agency for healing is for us all to communicate openly, honestly, and effectively regarding the circumstances around the injury. Only by correcting the imbalance that spawned the problem can we move beyond it as one cohesive unit."

For a moment Abe couldn't find a single word to say—not one word in his admittedly expansive vocabulary was volunteering itself for use. Seemingly realizing his predicament, Amber glanced pointedly at his already folded hands. "Go ahead. I'm entirely sincere—see for yourself." He hesitated, torn between the possibilities of being proven right and seeing something even more confusing in her unguarded thoughts. Finally, though, he made up his mind—he lifted one hand, unfurled his fingers, and searched for the truth.

 _~So that's how it works_ _…_ _how r'markable_ _…_ _he mus' be perty strong'a character if he's not vegan_ _—_ _how could anyone ever eat meat if they could see all the horrors that chicken went through jus' by pickin' up its drumsticks?~_ Taken aback by the odd contemplation he picked up from her, he instinctively clenched his fist again.

"I wear gloves when eating," he blurted in response to what he picked up. The redhead blushed almost the same color as her hair, nervously avoiding his eyes.

"A-Apologies," she murmured needlessly stirring her teacup, more for something to do than because the tea was getting cold. "I've been told my mind needs a _leash_ …it's prone to _wandering."_

"I gathered as much."

 _~Ass.~_ As she hid her cringe behind the cup's rim, he discreetly parted his fingertips again despite the mental insult she just unknowingly flung at him. _~I was right_ _…_ _much bluer'n Lake Taneycomo_ _…_ _an' far deeper, as well. Good thin' I'm a strong swimmer.~_

"If it's all the same to you, I'd rather reschedule our preliminary appointment, Madam Director—you're clearly preoccupied and I've already put you behind schedule with my tardiness." At first, she reacted with confusion, but she quickly reigned in her reaction if only on the surface.

"Very well. I'm solidly booked for the first week but should be able to fit you in over my lunch hour tomorrow. Is that agreeable?" Abe nodded, uttering a wordless sound of acceptance. Shortly afterward, he strode out into the hallway, scrubbing his palms on the fabric of his shorts in a futile attempt to scrub his mind clean of the many confusing statements he picked up from her unawares. As he turned the corner, one last thought drifted out to him, now more of a shout than a scream. _~Pity he's an arrogant ass_ _…_ ** _his_** _is rather fine.~_

Abe shuddered, hastening his steps and struggling to resist the reflexive urge to clench his cheeks. The new director couldn't even keep her most sensitive thoughts from being projected to any psychic within hearing…it seemed he needed to start wearing gloves _around her_ as well.

* * *

 _Strong hands_ _—_ _strong and rough, but never careless_ _—_ _no, recklessness was an admirable trait so long as she never paid for it. Yes_ _…_ _that's right_ _…_ _strong, calloused hands gently traced her curves_ _—_ _no, worshipped them, as though their owner had never seen anything more fascinating. No, that made no sense_ _…_ _she wasn't the Venus de Milo_ _—_ _she wasn't Rembrandt's mistress_ _—_ _she was just who she was_ _—_ _a complete mess, albeit a mess who burned with need. This dream lover of hers didn't care that she was a mess_ _—_ _didn't care that she fell asleep still clothed in her cutoffs, tank top, and stained canvas smock, skin still bearing colorful acrylic smudges._

 _There were those hands again, cupping her soft hip and urging her other leg up over a broad, roughened bicep_ _—_ _whose hands were they? Who would touch her so gently, so reverently? She wasn't new to this sort of dream_ _—_ _she'd suffered a lifetime of them, after all, and as many imaginary lovers as there were days in a year._

 _Blue_ _eyes,_ _brown_ _eyes, blonde hair, black hair_ _—_ _she saw them all and had her own favorites, but this one was fast becoming an addiction. Hands she couldn't see_ _—_ _lips she could only feel_ _—_ _eyes she could practically feel slowly dragging along her skin_ _—_ _every time she found herself in this strange dreamlike void, she was kept company by another nameless, faceless body to warm hers. Most of those dream lovers had one thing in mind, they existed solely to set her on fire and leave her frustrated. This one was different_ _—_ _this lover burned as brightly as she did, but that burn wasn't at all painful_ _…_ _his burning was sweet, blissful, and made tears prick her eyes._

 _A glint of gold burned through the shadows_ _—_ _why gold? She was never partial to gold_ _—_ _she always said she preferred bronze or copper even though her ears were pierced with gold_ _—_ _why gold? Sunlight in the shadows_ _—_ _warm, simmering honey yellow rimmed with red_ _—_ _burning, brilliant, bleeding red seeping through the darkness of her empty world. Perhaps gold wasn't so gaudy after all_ _…_ _but why red? Red was fire, burning, blood and pain_ _…_ _why red?_

 _Callused fingertips dove into her always-messy hair_ _—_ _gently carded through the riotous almost-black locks as though intent on straightening them or throwing them into further disarray. A cheek rough with stubble_ _—_ _no, not stubble, that was more than stubble, it was full and coarse_ _—_ _the wiry hair trailed teasingly along her collar, a warm, firm nose nuzzling the racing pulse in her neck._

 _Heat_ _—_ _burning, lingering, swelling heat_ _—_ _her unseen lover's sure touch and gruff, chuckled words had her blazing inside. The tang of something smoky tickled her lungs_ _—_ _incense? Ah, he was a romantic, this one_ _…_ _no, that didn't smell like incense_ _…_ _or did it? So many things didn't make sense_ _…_ _so many conflicting sensations tugged for her attention, urged her away from the flashes of gold and crimson in the shadows._

 _Fire_ _—_ _she was burning, burning from the inside without any of the pain_ _—_ _fire always brought pain, so how could it, instead, be driving her pulse in pleasure and need? A dash of crimson, a bolt of scarlet_ _—_ _mere streaks of paint on an otherwise black canvas_ _—_ _gold flashed in the darkness._

 _ **Jasmine.**_ _The gold brightened in the darkness_ _—_ _the hands tightened on her shoulders_ _—_ _insistent without intent, fearful more than frantic._ _ **Jasmine, wake up**_ ** _—_** ** _wake up!_**

 _No_ _…_ _she didn't want to wake up_ _…_ _she was happy here, content in the pitch black void with the gleaming gold and burning red_ _—_ _reveling in the spicy, musky sweat and the bitter-sweet smoke_ _—_ _she was burning with want, burning with need_ _…_

 _…_ _burning. No_ _…_ _surely not_ _…_ ** _BURNING?!_**

* * *

 ** _Before dawn, a rundown double-wide in a rough neighborhood in Kansas City, Missouri_**

Jasmine McKenna Willow startled awake with a frantic squawk, honey-hazel eyes darting around for what she knew she'd find. The smoke detector was going ballistic—the bed's linens were crackling with flames—heavy, acrid smoke filled the bedroom like a month's dirty laundry. Everything touching her skin, even her own clothing, was charred to nothing… _again_.

 _"Goddammit!"_ she fairly screeched diving off the bed onto the carpet, paused to snuff out a kindling spark where her knees hit the shag, and dug for the fire extinguisher under her bed. _Too far_ —her fingertips barely managed to brush the over-heated metal. How'd it get so far from the edge?! She always kept it right within arms' reach, so how'd it wind up almost up against the far wall?!

Sirens wailed in the distance; she froze, turning fearfully to the window to search the dark street beyond for flashing lights. This was the big city compared to her hometown—sirens wailed here all day and all night, but there was always a risk—always the chance someone else in the trailer park saw her burning bedroom and called it in in hopes of saving her hopeless ass. Her neighbors would never understand that she wasn't harmed by fire, that the most violent blaze and sickening smoke would only ever harm her surroundings. Fire gave her strength…but it took so much away in return. _"Dammit,_ not _again_ —I _can't_ get caught—I _won't_ go back to the Compound!" No…she _barely_ made it out of there alive, even had to give up her own name to get out— _no way_ would she go back again! She _had to_ cover it up—cover it up and start over… _again._

With the sort of efficiency only attained through making the same stupid mistake enough times to earn a degree in it, she dug through her nightstand, slammed her heavy glass ash-tray on top, and fumbled around for an untouched pack of cigarettes. After digging out a handful, she dumped them in the ashtray and willed a spark to life—a spark was all it took to torch the lot to ash. Cringing and hacking at the acrid stench of the smoldering cancer sticks, she lit the last with the charred remains of her pillow and tossed it carelessly into the now-full ash tray. The scene staged, she wrapped her naked body in a singed over-sized bathrobe, grabbed her purse and cellphone, and bolted out the front door barefoot, dialing 911 as she ran.

In only a matter of moments, a firetruck careened to a stop at her curb, one of the yellow-suited first-responders bolting toward her. "There's no one inside," Jasmine explained before he could even ask. "I fell asleep smokin' an' set my ass on fire." The firefighter gave her a familiar peeved expression—and honestly, she would _totally_ feel the same way if _she_ stumbled on some dumb smoker intent on earning a Darwin Award—but the best she could do was offer a sheepish grin. "I need'a quit."

"Ya think?" the firefighter grumbled back at her before hurrying to assist his colleagues in putting out her rental trailer. Jasmine winced at every blast of water, well aware of what she'd find when the fire went out: charred paintings, cracked and blackened pottery, sketches and drawings burned to ash or waterlogged beyond repair…her life, as always, was in that trailer, and as always, it went up in smoke…and all because she was stuck in _Singles Hell._ Going through a dry spell was rough on anyone—no one enjoyed being stuck with stag life and nightly DIY—but for her, it was absolutely killer. After all, she wasn't like most singles—she was a fire-type Elemental, and like passion, fire burned anyone who got too close.

The fire put out and their job done, the fire crew loaded up and took off again—she was, after all, a repeat offender, and she wasn't showing any signs of injury or breathing trouble. Jasmine hated having to stage disasters like this—hated having to blame nighttime fires on an addiction she'd never allow herself to acquire—but it kept her from winding up chased back to the Willow Compound. _Anything_ was better than going back to the Compound…even having to start over time and time again looked like a teddy-bear-picnic compared to crawling back to the Compound with her proverbial tail between her legs.

Ruminating on what she was sure to find when she returned—and dreading her landlord's fury—Jasmine slumped on the curb, honey-hazel eyes despondent. With a bitter scoff, she dug out her cellphone and flipped through her contacts. The name pulled up, she hesitated, trying to work out her explanation before her savior could get the chance to tear her a new one…and she _would_ tear her a new one.

Windy was gonna _kill her._

* * *

 _Okay, so there were a LOT of new names thrown around in this chapter but there's good news: you don't need to know all of them, and most of them are more support than vital to the plot. For your convenience, here's a general rundown of the new ones in order of importance. (Feel free to skim or skip)  
_

 **Jasmine McKenna [Willow] ("Jazz," "Jasmine Wills")** – _Jasmine is Amber Jr's younger sister, and as you found out in this chapter, a Fire-type Elemental. Amber and Jasmine's mother died shortly after Jazz was born and they were taken in by Elder Daisy. Jasmine is an artist with many talents and eccentricities but struggles to control her element, especially when her hormones interfere with her sleep. After leaving the Willow Compound, she and Amber were (as is routine) forced to take on a new surname, and they chose "Wills;" though Jazz officially took the new name, she still markets her artwork on the sly as "Jazz Willow." She is very much a major player in this story._

 **Constanza Alesha Woods ("Al")** – _Control-type Spirit Elemental, former field agent turned Maintenance/R &D/Arms repairs worker, widowed wife of David Woods, a particularly foolhardy werewolf. A distant cousin of Amber's, Al was adopted and raised by the same elder; Alesha and Amber and Jasmine consider themselves siblings. Though she's a major character and a regular face she's more of a support until the sequel._

 **Elysia Palmer ("Ellie")** – _Electric-subtype Elemental, head of the maintenance crew and occasional assistant to R &D. Ellie's a bit of a troll and a goofball, but underneath it all she's very sensitive and patient. A semi-regular supporter in this story, her tale expands in the sequel._

 **Amita Nerina [Willow]** – _Accounting clerk and head of Personnel management, strictly background support. Amita's a skilled water-type Elemental, but a birth defect causing a discrepancy in the length of her legs has rendered her weak and clumsy on dry land. She's got a distant and no-nonsense personality and doesn't socialize much; she's in a committed relationship with one of the BPRD's lower-ranking special agents, a nøkk by the name of Pontus Doe. Background support, you won't see her often._

 **The Willow Clan Elders** _don't really play much of a part in the story until later on, but for the moment, here's a quick rundown according to age. All five elders were born to the one person every Willow clan member has in common, however distantly – a woman now commonly known simply as "Granma Lila" as a result of two marriages and one pre-marital affair._

 _It bears mentioning that Willow Elementals are a specific 'breed' of Elementals, have their own oddities that may not apply to other Elementals, and while a significant number of Willows are Elementals, just as many if not more are "Duds." (Powerless and entirely ordinary humans.) Most Duds are free to leave the Compound without harassment provided they change their last name, but Elementals who choose to leave the Compound are subject to stalking and harassment from Elders Amber Sr. and Ashlyn on top of the other difficulties. Most, like Amber Jr, are left with little choice but to change cities every few years to avoid detection. ALL people bearing the last name Willow, whether born in or married in, Elemental or Dud, are required to legally change their last name before they leave the Compound to protect those still living on the Compound. The Compound is essentially meant as a safe haven for those who choose to stay there, but it has also become a bit of a prison for the residents._

 _A last note on this, Amber, too, used the name "Wills" as her new surname, but upon arrival at the Bureau gave her name as Willow because she knew Broom would be expecting her as a Willow, not as a Wills._

 **The Willow Clan Elders**

 ***Amber Wynden Willow Sr** **("Amber Sr" or "Aunt A")** – _the eldest female in the clan and fraternal twin sister of Elder Sebastian. Amber Sr is an air-type Elemental, very foul tempered, and should never be trusted alone with any infant or an air-type of any age. Amber Sr. has kept a mostly iron control over the majority of the Willow Clan by use of her aerokinesis - specifically, she steals the air from the lungs of any who dare to speak out against her. **Amber Jr** (known for her wool-gathering and nickname "Windy") was the first Air-type since her namesake to survive infancy and for good reason, but these reasons have yet to be revealed. Since Amber Jr's successful survival into adulthood, a few more air-type Elementals have been successfully smuggled off of the Willow Compound for their own safety, including the aforementioned "Vega and Avira."  
_

 ***Elder Sebastian ("Uncle Seb")** – _the eldest male in the clan and Amber Sr's fraternal twin brother. He is a Hybrid-type Spirit Elemental and is very much an intellectual. Some suggest his brain is too big for his own good, and it often backfires on him, leading him to make logically sound but morally questionable decisions. Amber Sr. and Sebastian were fathered by Lila's lover prior to her first marriage._

 ***Elder Daisy ("Aunt Daisy" or "Elder Daisy")** – _Daisy is a brassy and often abrasive Hybrid-type Earth Elemental with an almost unhealthy amount of pets, animals, and livestock, and a tendency toward adopting and raising clan children who have lost their parents. Three of such children are Alesha, Amber, and Jasmine, all of whom were orphaned. Daisy's farm employs many on the Willow Compound and she owns and operates the Tipsy Willow Tavern. She is half-sister to all other elders and the middle child, fathered by Lila's first husband._

 ***Elder Raina ("Aunt Raina," "Auntie R")** – _Raina is a bit of an enigma to her four siblings. Overall she is rather detached and distant but those who take this for granted often find she does have a soft side and a dry sense of humor. She is a Water-type Elemental and one feline short of a crazy-cat-lady. She is reluctantly allied with Daisy and Sebastian, but distant bordering on cold to the other two. Of the five elders, she is the most determined to avoid conflict._

 ***Elder Ashlyn ("Aunt Ash")** – _Ashlyn is the youngest of the Elders and full-sister of Raina. She has always been very weak and sickly due to an accident in-utero that resulted in the end of Lila's life. Ashlyn is a Fire-type Elemental and Amber Sr's devoted companion, steadfastly taking Amber's side in all conflicts no matter how far the eldest takes it. Ashlyn is predominantly soft-spoken but has no qualms against silencing those who will speak out against Amber Sr, regardless of Amber's increasingly violent tendencies.  
_


	6. 4: A Burning Heart

_Now, the time has come—the time for Elvis to leave the—oh, wait, wrong time. Ahem. Time for Jazz to start sending the Bureau into absolute chaos. Precautions for more coarse language than usual and some suggestive (and nauseating) jokes._

 _In other news, it's no secret that I make use of playlists to psych me up for writing certain stories, scenarios, and characters – now many of those playlists have been made public, available to share with my readers! When you find yourself reading an update to this story—or, more often, WAITING for said update—hit up the story's playlist on Spotify. Channel name is_ **Ghost Chance** _and there are numerous public playlists related to this story and the Elementals, so start with the playlist_ ***"A Breath of Fresh Air."**

 ** _Suggested Listening: Staind "Right Here," Blue Öyster Cult "Burnin' for You," Bon Jovi "It's My Life"_**

* * *

 **4: A Burning Heart **

More often than not, a sudden phone call in the early hours of the morning meant bad news; this phone call, unfortunately, was no different.

It all started just before dawn—started with an unexpected bleating of Amber's cellphone and bleary hazel eyes cracking open to discern the name on the caller ID. At first glance, "Jazz" wouldn't seem a name, but Amber knew differently…and the sight of that nickname on her screen sent a chill of dread skating down her spine. Resigned to what was surely another crisis, she sat up against the headboard and switched on a lamp, accepting the call. "Good mornin', Hon," she grumbled, her words slurred from sleep. "You realize the sun's not even up yet, right?"

"Uh…yeah," the caller admitted in an embarrassed mumble. "Hi, Sis…Hope I didn't wake ya." Amber pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration; she needed coffee…STAT.

"Jasmine, it's three am on a weekday… _yes,_ you _woke me._ What's going on?"

"Um…well…you see…the thing is…uh…"

By the time Jasmine was able to get her words out and the call was over, Amber's blood pressure was through the roof. Of all the times for her younger sister to set her house on fire, _why now?!_

* * *

Amber paced her office restlessly, barking out orders over the phone line, heedless of the growing line outside her office door. "What seems to be the problem?" The professor's incredulous greeting startled the director, and after a quick 'just a second' gesture, she bid the other party goodbye and ended the call.

"B, I'm _so glad_ you're here," she professed nervously as he shut the door behind him. "I—I didn't know what else to do—I just—"

"Calm yourself, Dear," Professor Broom reminded sternly. "Whatever it is, I highly doubt it's as dreadful as you make it seem." Amber held his eyes a moment longer, then broke away, blushing.

"It's…it's Jazz," she admitted digging her fingertips into her hair and tugging at the roots. "She's been evicted… _again."_

"What do you mean _again?!"_ he demanded in dismay. _"Why_ has she been evicted?"

"Well," Amber muttered shooting a cantankerous scowl over at the photo on her desk—or more specifically the subject with hazel eyes and dark hair. "It's funny, really…the places she rents keep _catching on fire_ …and trust me, you do _not_ want to know why."

"She still cannot control her abilities?" the professor asked incredulously. "She's had plenty of time and almost as much training…but she _still_ cannot control herself?"

"Oh, she can _control herself,"_ Amber answered with a scoff. "She just can't control herself when she's **sleeping** … _please_ don't make me elaborate, I'm scarred for life as it is." The older gentleman winced, easily following Amber's hints. "Normally, when something like this comes up she comes to stay with me for a time—at least long enough to find a new place of her own and make sure her landlord gets their insurance payments—but now…" She shook her head, meeting his eyes helplessly. "She doesn't know I'm in Washington—she has no idea I'm working with you, either, and she's expecting to couch surf like always! It's going to be hard enough when Aunt A and Aunt Ash find out where I am, but if they find out _Jazz_ is here, too…"

"You know what must be done, Amber." She dropped her eyes, turning instead to the photo on her desk. "You're the elder sister, but Jasmine is an adult now—she's had you to solve her problems long enough already and it's done her no good. Call her back and send a team to help her pack up—she'll be moving in when she arrives, and once she's gotten herself together, she'll join as an agent-in-training."

"Are…are you sure, B?" the redhead asked quietly. "Aunt A—"

 _"_ _—_ _Amber Senior_ does _not_ need to know," Broom cut her off. "It's for the best—Jasmine needs to learn to control her abilities and she needs to be somewhere that can handle the occasional nighttime fire. Coddling her further will only harm her in the long run." Amber hesitated, glancing warily to the mess of papers scattered across her desk and trying to recall just how many Willow Elementals were currently working with the bureau. Already she'd endured over a dozen individual meetings intent on securing their silence—after all, _she_ was still in the closet about her abilities _and_ using her birth surname. Those involved with the bureau used their abilities openly but with false surnames. Willows still on the Compound kept their abilities secret from the world at large; any connection between them and a Willow openly using their abilities would lead to suspicion…and, if previous generations were anything to go by, perhaps even violence.

"Not including yourself, there are currently fourteen of your clan allied with the bureau," the professor reminded her matter-of-factly. Amber winced, embarrassed at being read so easily. "Of those fourteen, ten are primarily on the fieldwork registry and four hold positions of support, and two are not cleared for fieldwork due to physical limitations." After reciting this, he fixed a hard stare on the younger redhead. "Fourteen Willow Clan Elementals are employed here…three possessing control of _Water,_ two of _Wind,_ two of _Earth,_ four of _Spirit,_ and one of the atypical subtype _Electricity."_ Amber quickly tallied the numbers up in her head, but each time came up with…

"The last?" she asked.

 _"Fire."_ Hazel eyes widened in surprise. "Miss Serafina is the only Willow ally who controls Fire and she has limitations of her own. We have Miss Elizabeth to take on what Sara cannot, but between the two of them, they're overworked—fire, unfortunately, is a common weakness in those our agents run up against in the field. Jasmine needs a safe haven and she needs assistance with mastering her element in moments of weakness but just as much, the Bureau needs her in our ranks."

Once again, Amber felt torn between her many loyalties—loyalty to her clan's secrets, loyalty to her younger sister, loyalty to Trevor Broom and his cause—every time before, this three-way tug had the same result, her deciding to side with her clan or her sister. Now that she thought about it, though, she wondered if the three loyalties really were all that different. Broom would never suggest any action that would harm her family or her clan…and like it or not, Jasmine needed help she would only receive at the Bureau or back on the Willow Compound outside Branson. There was _no way in Hell_ she was sending her sister _back to the Compound_ knowing that Amber Senior and Elder Ashlyn still held positions of authority there _._ Silent, solemn, Amber finally settled into her chair with a sigh and placed a quick call to Amita in Personnel.

"The team's being notified," she reported once the call was completed. "Amita suggested two Spirit-types and a Black Suit to help pack up, with a Water-type for any damage control. I know the Water-type, Marcie," she commented glancing through the duty roster scattered across her desktop, "I've met Agent Clay a number of times, and I remember the first Spirit-type, Dante, because of his sister Avira, but the last one's a new name for me. Maverick, I believe?"

"Maverick is relatively new at the Bureau," Broom explained simply. "He's a Sensory-type Spirit Elemental who was born away from the Willow Compound—he's never been there before, and as far as we know, the residents of the Compound know nothing of him. He's never been on Amber Senior's radar."

"Lucky man," Amber mumbled. What she'd give to have never been on her namesake's radar…even so, she suspected Elder Sebastian was well-aware of Maverick's existence even if his twin wasn't. She sometimes wondered if Sebastian had some sort of mental radar regarding others born with his element but that made no sense whatsoever. "Personnel agreed to handle the briefing, so the team should be leaving soon…I'd better get onto the red tape." With a quick farewell, the professor quit the office, presumably heading for his own. Fingertips diving into her already messy mane of carrot red hair, Amber sighed in frustration, struggling to arrange her runaway thoughts before they began to wreak havoc on her surroundings.

The Willow Compound was meant to be a safe haven—a place her unusual clansmen could be who they were without fear of discovery or censure. That safe haven, however, quickly became a cage the moment _Amber Sr._ left her cabin. The Air Elder wasn't to be trusted, _especially_ with children, but Trevor Broom could not have known that when he left Amber Jr. and Jasmine in the care of their family. Family was meant to be a blessing…family, however, could sometimes be the greatest danger of all.

No matter what horrifying lies the Air Elder filled the sisters' ears with, Amber Jr. knew better—she refused to believe any of it, from the claims of Broom using them like pawns to the declarations that he left them because he detested them. Amber knew better…Jasmine, however, was younger and easily led astray. The redhead was furious to find out about Hellboy's adoption—enraged, hurt, and betrayed—but once drawn back from her anger, she quickly calmed and settled.

Three elements formed the Basic triad of elements—Wind, Water, and Fire—all interdependent and unpredictable, and all mirrored in the personalities of those who commanded their power. Wind was mercurial, prone to sudden changes and flighty disorder, but it was the one element capable of truly balancing the other two in the triad. Water was soothing, sedate, and overall calm until provoked into a tempest; of the three, Water was the least likely to be seen as a threat, and for that reason, it was the second-most dangerous. As for Fire…Fire was passion, rage and rapture, and nearly impossible to reign in once it took hold.

Jasmine's element was Fire, and just like Fire, she was difficult to reign in. If Jasmine could not control her own urges, how could she control her temper? The redhead shook her head, lips pursed and eyes narrowed. 'If she stays here for any amount of time, she _will_ find out about Hellboy,' she realized staring wearily down into her empty teacup. 'There's no preventing it, no avoiding it…but…perhaps if we simply _delay_ their meeting, she will have time to acclimate? –time to realize that B wasn't at fault for what happened to us and that Hellboy, though obnoxious, is an ally?'

"Workin' hard or hardly workin'?" The sudden snark from the doorway startled Amber back to herself; blinking hazel eyes shot up to the open doorway then up a couple more feet to greet the massive half-demon loitering on the threshold.

'Speak of the devil and he shall appear.'

* * *

The next few days passed with little interruption and variation, and for that reason, they seemed to drag for Amber. On the fourth day, the wait was finally over: a call came in warning of the impending arrival. Steeling her nerves for the whirlwind about to descend upon the Bureau, Amber made an attempt to straighten her stress-mussed hair and clacked her way out to the loading bay. Every step of the way, she hoped and prayed she wasn't making a horrible, irreparable mistake.

The moving truck arrived right on time—a small comfort considering whom it contained—and the moment it stopped rolling, a young woman burst from the front passenger seat in a flurry of black, brown, and red. The woman's warm honey-hazel eyes fairly gleamed when she reluctantly released Amber from the bear hug; the gentle smoothing of riotous hair—a brown almost dark enough to pass for black—triggered a wide lopsided grin in the newcomer.

"It's good to see you, Jazz," Amber greeted warmly, squeezing her sister's shoulder before cringing at the sticky feeling of the red fabric and gingerly pulling away cringing.

"Yeah, it's gross," the younger admitted as Amber fought the urge to scrub her hand clean on her neat pencil skirt. "That maniac Dante hit a bump after we picked up lunch an' I spilt taco sauce on my shirt. It's great seein' ya, Windy." Jasmine gave a low chuckle, shaking her head and bracing her hands on her hips. "Dang, how long's it been _this_ time?"

"Not nearly as long as it feels like," the redhead admitted with a wry smile. "Still painting?" Jasmine grinned slyly in response.

"Still'n the closet?" Amber's only answer was a sharp-eyed warning frown. "There's your answer." Amber sighed, pinning a frustrated gaze on her younger sister.

"Hey, Blowhard!" The shouted interruption drew both pairs of hazels—a ball-capped head with dark hair, dark skin, and bright blue eyes poked around the side of the truck. The owner hopped down from the ramp with an audible grunt. "Where're we takin' this shit?" Dante grinned around his cigarette, jabbing his thumb toward the box-laden dolly. Amber arched an unimpressed eyebrow at him; a breath later, the cigarette went out, smothered from lack of oxygen to the cherry. Dante's eyes crossed in dismay, focusing on the dead ember as it dropped a chunk of ash on his canvas vest. "Aw, Dangit, Windy, I wa'n't done with that!"

"You know the law, Dante," she answered sternly, well aware Jasmine was sniggering into her hands. "This is Federal property—no smoking in public-access locations." Her point made, she gave a faint if a little smug smile. "Now that you're no longer radiating second-hand carcinogens, Agent Meyers is just inside—he'll lead you to Jasmine's quarters." Still grumbling about his wasted smoke, Dante grabbed onto the dolly's grab-bar, kicked it back, and began sullenly wheeling it up the loading ramp toward the bay door. That dealt with, Amber turned back to her sister with a long-suffering sigh through her nose. "Look, Jazz," she attempted quietly, "I know you're still convinced that I should quit hiding from my inheritance. Considering I'm working at a facility for those with abilities like ours, I shouldn't _have to_ hide…the problem is I'm not ready to come out."

"Not _ready?"_ Jasmine asked lowly, "or not _willing?"_ Amber didn't flinch; Jasmine crossed her arms, staring back in defiance.

"I'm issuing a gag order, Jasmine…right here, right now." The younger faltered, her eyes widening in hurt. "It's nothing against you," Amber insisted gently, reaching up to squeeze her shoulder again without recalling the sticky taco sauce on the other's shirt sleeve; again, she cringed, but this time didn't pull away. "I've already had the rest sign the agreement as well—no one who knows what I can do is to so much as hint about it…at least until I can manage it better."

"You' gotta be _kiddin'_ me!" Jasmine burst out flinging her arms wide. "Yer _how old,_ an' ya _still_ can't control it?!"

"Don't even _start_ with me, _Jasmine McKenna Willow,"_ Amber snapped in return, and upon realizing they were attracting attention, she shot a stern glare at the Blacksuit crew attempting to eavesdrop instead of unloading the moving van. Suitably chastised the Blacksuits hurried back to their task. "You really don't have any room to talk," Amber reminded Jasmine, more quietly this time, "seeing as how many times you've been evicted over nighttime fires and come to me for help."

"Well, it _wouldn't_ _happen_ if I could just _git laid_ on a regular basis," Jasmine groused, but Amber's horrified cringe made her snicker.

"Good grief, Jazz, I _still_ didn't want to hear that!" Jasmine doubled over with laughter as Amber shuddered at the image planted in her mind. "There's not enough tea in existence to deal with you living _several counties away!_ _How_ can I survive being _under the same roof?"_ Amber rolled her eyes in frustration and turned to stalk inside, leading the way. "Come on, let's get you settled already." Jasmine ducked back to the van to retrieve her carryon and jogged to catch up with her sister.

"Ya've changed," Jasmine remarked her brows furrowed in thought even as she trotted alongside. "Ya talk funny now. Where ya been livin'?" Amber sighed. Of _course,_ Jazz would notice. What _didn't_ she notice?

"I'm sorry to disappoint you." The irritable tone in her voice was gone now; the truth hurt. She hated having to hide who she was, more than the younger realized, but she did what she needed to fly under the radar. The alternative was too dangerous to even consider. "There aren't many employers around anymore who will hire someone whose native language is _Hick_. We do what we must to conform to the times, or we run risk of being felled. You'd do well to recall why _willows outlast other trees."_

Amidst the clacking of Amber's heels and the zipping of her nylons, Jasmine turned questioning hazel eyes to her sister, searching for an answer in the hazel many shades more golden than her own. The older woman stared straight ahead, lost in thought. Saddened by what she found, Jasmine turned her eyes to the ground as they entered the lobby. Amber was different now…she changed and not in a good way, either…and childish as it sounded, Jasmine wanted her big sister back.

* * *

Ordinarily, a new recruit would be given a few days to unpack and get their bearings before starting on their training. In the case of Jasmine, however, that few days was reluctantly extended to a week on account of previous obligations. After all, before her trailer went up in flames she was working on a commission—an oil painting ordered by a regular patron of hers—and now that the canvas was reduced to ash she had to start all over. At least, Jasmine considered as she spread the last tarp over the last piece of furniture, Amber understood the importance of maintaining her reputation as a reliable artist. Because of that understanding, she was granted extra time to acclimate…and she'd need every single day of it just to get the commission completed.

From the first time she saw it, the Bureau's lavish library seemed the perfect place to use as a makeshift studio. It was empty—there was no sign anyone ever came there, at least other than the classical music playing—and it had plenty of space. As if that wasn't enough to convince her to stake her claim, the sound system was _sweet!_ _–_ absolutely top of the line, far better than anything she could _ever_ afford! Now, with her area spread with tarps and drop-cloths and her easel and supplies set up, Jasmine logged onto her tablet with a toothy grin. When faced with a chance to enjoy epic-quality music, there was only one choice for a Rusher to make…turn on Bluetooth, start with _Finding My Way,_ and work her way to _The Garden!_

* * *

When working for the Bureau of Paranormal Research and Defense, over time one realized there were some things that just didn't happen. Professor Broom _didn't_ turn the other way when he caught someone smoking in public areas. Abe _didn't_ go an entire day without getting mentally exhausted and retreating to his tank for a break. When the cafeteria advertised _meatloaf_ they _didn't_ _actually_ put any _meat_ in it unless one of the head honchos ordered it. Most of all, Abe _didn't_ blast _Blue Öyster Cult_ at top volume from the library's impressive sound system. Nevertheless, there Hellboy stood, mere yards from the library's closed doors, doubting his own ears.

 _"Burn out the day,"_ an unfamiliar voice wailed along with the music echoing through the room normally restricted to classical. _"Burn out the night - I can't see no reason to put up a fight! I'm livin' fo' givin' the devil'is dues, an' I'm burnin', I'm burnin', I'm burnin' fa you!"_ Bewildered, the half-demon gaped at the closed doors, wondering who on earth had the nerve to hijack Abe's stereo system. Intent on answers, he lumbered toward the door.

* * *

 _"I'm not grounding you, Agent Hellboy." Despite the reassuring words, Director Amber was visibly irritated with him. Of course, could he really blame her? The moment he heard the words 'keep your distance' come out of her mouth he stopped listening and started arguing._

 _"Then whaddayou call it, huh?" he demanded sharply. "If it_ _ **walks**_ _like a duck an'_ _ **quacks**_ _like a duck—"_

 _ **"—it's a goose in drag."**_ _The sarcastic retort rendered him speechless and wide-eyed._

 _"That doesn't even make sense," the half-demon pointed out dryly. "Geese don't_ _ **quack."**_

 _"Neither does my request." Already one of Amber's eyes was twitching in irritation. "Please—_ _ **sit**_ _down,_ _ **calm**_ _down, and_ _ **let me explain."**_ _Once he relented, she reached out to pass him the only decoration ever kept on her desk—a framed family photo. It was no secret that Amber was in some way related to Al Woods, the loud-mouthed mechanic from Maintenance—the extent and legitimacy of which relationship was a popular topic for water-cooler gossip—but nothing certain was known about the other occupants of the framed photo. "You know Agent Woods," Amber related without emphasis. "The young woman between us is my younger sister Jasmine."_

 _"You're not just showin' off baby pictures are ya?" Hellboy demanded once he met her eyes again. "You're bringin' your sister to the Bureau an' worried I'll freak her out."_

 _"I_ _ **am**_ _bringing her here, unfortunately," Amber answered bluntly, "but_ _ **you're**_ _not the one I'm worried about. She has some…_ _ **unresolved issues**_ _with the Professor. You recall my reaction to finding out he adopted you." Before he had a chance to get out a single word, she cut him off. "That was_ _ **nothing.**_ _When Jasmine finds out, she's liable to go ballistic. Frankly, I'd rather break that news to her over the phone—with her in a fireproof room, maybe even a swimming pool. She will_ _ **literally**_ _blow up over that news." The massive half-demon scrutinized her silently, searching for any sign of deceit, but found none._

 _"Your sister's a pyro?" he asked, his voice low and graveled as he handed back the frame._

 _"Indeed," Amber answered staring down at the photo, "a Fire-type Elemental who burned down her trailer in her sleep…_ _ **again."**_ _Hellboy cracked a grin at Amber's peeved tone. "I'm_ _ **not**_ _grounding you, Agent, and I'm_ _ **not**_ _demanding you keep away from her_ _ **indefinitely**_ _—she's going to be training as an asset soon and it's not likely we could ever keep you a secret from her even if I saw fit." She finally met his eyes again, and the honesty in hers gave him pause. "You shouldn't have to hide because of the reactions of others. I won't ask you to do so. All I ask is that you please give Jasmine some space for a while—don't seek her out, don't strike up conversation, just give me some time to figure out how to break the news to her gently…please."_

 _"If I agree to this," he muttered, "you're tellin' me why it even matters that Father adopted me. It ain't gotta be now," he added when she made to protest. "Heck, it ain't even gotta be soon, but one way or another, you're fillin' me in. We got an agreement?" Amber hesitated, glanced down at the photo again, then back up to him._

 _"We have a deal, Agent Hellboy. Do_ _ **not**_ _let me down."_

* * *

Hellboy stood frozen before the library door, left hand frozen on the cold brass handle. Through the door, different music played at an even louder volume—another song, another artist, and not one the occupant of the library could keep pitch with. Not for the first time, he was glad he didn't have the best hearing—the unseen woman, surely the notorious pyro Jasmine Willow, was completely tone deaf. Even so, the words she sang struck a chord with her unseen audience.

 _"I believe in what I see - I believe in what I hear - I believe that what I'm feelin' changes how the world appears!"_ Hellboy heard the song before many years ago— Totem, wasn't it? He shook his head, recalling the rest of the lyrics and the excited smile he wore when he first heard it. Alas, even in the 90's, the general populace tended to be a bit leery of lumping the paranormal in with the normal, let alone the demons with the angels.

Hesitating, worrying, wondering, Hellboy stared down at the gleaming brass door handle, struggling to make up his mind. He promised the new Director that he'd keep his distance from the new addition for a while—and he had no doubt that was her in the library, Amber warned that he'd probably _hear_ Jasmine before he ever _saw_ her. He gave his word…

When did _Manning_ ever keep _his_ word? The recollection gave him pause. Sure, Manning was gone—fired, charged, and replaced before his trial could even begin—but was the new director really any better than Manning was? Amber had yet to refer to any of the agents under her care by insulting nicknames or call anyone 'it' or 'that,' and she was surprisingly reasonable when she wasn't being tackled and accused of trying to set off a bomb. Still, just like Manning, she asked him to keep away from a new agent—maybe she asked for different reasons and maybe she was more reasonable about it, but how much could he really trust someone who wanted him to stay away from her family?

His hand knew the decision before his head even made it; the door eased open releasing a near-deafening explosion of racket and off-key caterwauling out into the hallway. _"Angels and demons dancing in my head, lunatics and monsters underneath my bed!"_ Hellboy cringed, both hands slapped over his ears, trying to wrap his head around what he was seeing. That woman—Jasmine Willow—was under six feet tall and had a lean figure; how could _so much noise_ come from such a small body?!

Eyes drifting closed in an almost rapturous smile, she belted out the last line - _Sweet chariot, swing low, come for me! –_ then fell into a thoughtful silence as the music library shuffled to another song. "Screw chariots," Jasmine snarked swiping her messy fringe out of her eyes – leaving a broad streak of white paint across her forehead – "gimme a Harley any day! _Man_ …I miss my Harley. Shouldn't'a sold'er to Sawnya." Clearly ignorant of her company she snagged the sound system's remote to finally crank the music down and yanked the strap of her paint-spattered black tank top back up over her exposed bra strap,

"Just you?" The sudden sarcastic remark at her back made her whip around to confront her company; the sight of him, however, stunned her silent. Black, gold, and red, she realized in disbelief, the gold surrounded by red and the red accented by black. Speechless, she studied the stranger's appearance, her artist's eye incessantly driven onward to follow natural focal lines to another remarkable detail. Intricate patterns sprawling along his massively oversized right arm—impossibly vivid skin and eyes, _cadmium red_ and _chrome yellow_ —a toothy grin that seemed inexplicably civilized compared to his remarkable appearance. This strange being before her was a conundrum—a complex combination of differences and similarities—on canvas, he'd be wondrous, a study in black, red, and gold… She snatched up a broad-bristled brush and jabbed it at him in warning.

 _"Yer_ ass's gettin' _painted,"_ she warned thickly with a lopsided smile and a determined nod. "Soon's I'm done with this commission, yer sittin' fer a portrait. _End'a story."_ Once her fingers were no longer itching to scribble down the first charcoal draft of the eventual portrait before he ran away, his words registered. "Wait—whaddaya mean _just me?"_ She didn't think it possible before, but the half-demon's grin got even wider.

"Sounded like one of my _cats_ was gonna end up with _kittens_ again," he teased making his way over to her painting setup. With every step a new detail became clear—a wide swath of hunter green bisecting her clavicle, a smudge of gold dashed across her cheek, a spatter of rouge on her chin…the woman seemed to be wearing more paint than she'd put on the canvas. "Turns out it was just _you singin'."_

Jasmine uttered a non-word sound of disbelief and disgust. "Did you _seriously_ just say I _sing like cats fuckin'?!"_ she demanded in mock offense, but her scowl melted into a grin. "Those _poor cats!_ What'd they _ever_ do to deserve _that_ comparison?" Sniggering, she scrubbed her hands clean on a rag hanging off the corner of the easel then offered one in greeting. "Name's Jasmine," she offered as he gingerly returned the handshake. "It's a bit of a mouthful, though, so you can call me _Jazz_ if ya want. I take it yer _Hellboy?"_

"My reputation precedes me again, I see." Introductions over with, he wandered over to the nearest shelf, putting on as though he was more interested in the contents than cataloging the shades of paint the strange woman wore. He failed. Determined to at least _look_ occupied, he selected a random volume from the shelf, banking on her being unable to read Latin; it was, after all, a dead language, and the book in hand was, after all, something he didn't really have much interest in reading. "So. Ya paint, huh?"

"Among other things," Jazz answered off-hand as she perused the paints smeared on her palette contemplating her best choice—were the second subject's eyes _burnt umber_ or were they more of a _burnt sienna?_ She glanced up at the photo tacked to her easel, considering the man in the portrait with a grimace. Yep. _Burnt umber_ bordering on _fresh dung_. Ick. "Windy tried warnin' me," she muttered as she selected a fine-tipped brush that cost more dollars than it had hairs. "Told'er I wanted to major in Liberal Arts, she told me it'd suck. I got my bachelor's anyway. Now, here I am, paintin' _rich dicks_ an' their _ugly dogs."_

Hellboy caught the slip of the tongue—he heard her refer to Amber as _Windy—_ but he held his tongue about it. His curiosity piqued and book in hand, Hellboy wandered over to examine the canvas and the photo she was painting it from—a studio portrait of a dapper model and his equally dapper giant poodle. The photo was professionally taken and was pretty obviously staged, but the painting was entirely different. The model looked younger, elated at being with his pet, and together they danced in a field of wildflowers like a pair of hippies tripping on toad slime. Despite the absurd subject matter—unfortunately, requested by the patron—the painting was incredible, skillfully executed and quite impressive despite being a work in progress. Hellboy hardly knew anything about Jasmine Willow but one thing was certain: she probably had more talent in her left pinky than he had in his entire body. "Which one's the _dog?"_ he asked instead of admitting his admiration of the portrait or the impressive amount of color she managed to smear on herself in painting it.

"Ya know," she answered with a suspicious glare at the portrait, "this guy commissions about a dozen paintings a year an' I _still_ can't figure it out. My guess is _they're both dogs."_

A trace of a familiar scent tickled her nose—not cigarettes, not incense, something somewhere between. As she puzzled out the strangely pleasant smell, something else registered—heat soaking into the bare skin of her left arm all the way from her shoulder downward, almost as though she stood next to a radiator. A glance out of the corner of her eye revealed the answer—Hellboy hovered beside her, not close enough to be threatening but close enough to make her nervous anyway—close enough she could feel an impossible amount of heat burning off his skin and smell traces of long-dissipated smoke from his worn leather duster. Hyperaware of his closeness and unsure how he managed to accomplish it without her notice, she stiffened.

Before she could get a word out, though, he brushed past her setup to one of the ornate vintage sofas nearby. As though he hadn't just sent every hair on the back of her neck standing on end, the massive being shrugged off his duster and settled down on the sofa to read. Though the furniture looked delicate, to Jasmine's disbelief, it didn't so much as creak upon accepting his clearly considerable weight. He was probably banking on her not knowing Latin and assuming he was reading but Jasmine knew better—after all, it wasn't _that_ long ago that Latin was still offered as a foreign language in Primary schools. He didn't seem the sort interested in philosophy, much less Stoicism.* "Ya smoke?" she asked instead of admitting her suspicion that he was trying to fake her out.

"Ya mind?" Hellboy returned with an easy shrug. She shook her head in the negative so he eagerly dug through the pockets of his duster. "It's kinda rare I get to smoke outside my room," he explained carefully selecting a cigar from what he dubbed his 'survival pack.' "Father tends to lecture me about it if he catches me…and for some reason my cigars always go out when your sister's around." Jasmine's amused snort stopped him in his tracks but he didn't question her.

"Amber can be a bit of a stickler for rules," Jazz admitted with a grin as the half-demon snipped the end, peeled off the band, and propped the cigar in the corner of his lips to pat down his pockets for a match. "I keep tellin'er to pull that stick out of'er ass before someone breaks it off. She never listens."

 _Matches._ Hellboy stilled, staring down into the empty box of penny matches. He remembered it like it was yesterday—the first and only time he and Director Manning ever saw eye to eye. _Use a wooden match—it preserves the flavor._ In that moment, he had hopes that Manning might finally be learning to accept him, that he might someday start to treat him and the other special-asset agents more like _people_ than performing animals. Now… The tiny cardboard box crumpled in his stone fist—crumpled like his hopes did after learning of Manning's betrayal and subsequent dismissal.

A cleared throat drew him from his brooding; Jasmine stood behind the sofa, hands on her hips expectantly. "What?" Hellboy demanded, but the sharpness of his voice clearly didn't offend her. Instead, she lifted one hand and snapped; right before his eyes, a tiny flame burst to life on the tip of her thumb as surely as though she'd flicked a lighter. He met her eyes in quiet confusion, partly over the unexpected offer and partly over her goofy theatrical way of giving it.

"Go on," she offered with a grin brighter than the tiny flame burning at the tip of her thumb. "Ya look like ya need it." Lips stretching into a broad grin around his cigar, he took the offered light, noting with interest that the odd woman wasn't put off by the strong smoke. Once the ember was going strong he leaned back into the arm of the sofa again; Jasmine let the tiny flame fizzle out and held out her hand expectantly. "That'll be five bucks."

"W-What?" Hellboy sputtered then with a weak scowl accused around his stogie, _"Five bucks a light?!_ That's highway robbery!" Laughing—at him!—the brunette shook her head, gave him a teasing pat on the shoulder, and turned to saunter back to her easel.

"Fine, _cheapskate,"_ she teased over her shoulder and grinned at catching him watching her backside. She couldn't tell, thanks to his crimson skin tone, but she suspected he was blushing. Not that she could blame him—the paint-spattered cutoffs she wore were the trigger of too many relationships to bother keeping track. "How 'bout lunch then?" Deep-set yellow eyes blinked in surprise, their owner visibly questioning whether he heard her correctly. Okay, plan B. "This place got a mess hall," she asked slowly, "or am I stuck pretending I can't burn water?" Finally, whether because of her guileless grin, easygoing posture, or her harmless teasing, he came to the conclusion that she was not, in fact, putting him on.

"Yeah, we got a Mess," he teased as she set to putting away her supplies. "It's even _more_ of a mess when _sushi's_ on the menu." Without a single word of offer or request, Hellboy knew for certain she was expecting him to lead the way and show her around afterward; honestly, he didn't mind.

Jazz was the very woman Amber ordered him away from, but for the moment, he couldn't care less. Manning made that mistake all the time—assumed Hellboy would bungle meetings or freak out the new kids on the block, and every time, it was pointless—every time, things turned out just fine without Manning's paranoid demands. Amber wasn't Manning—she was new but could she really be more reasonable than her predecessor? For a moment, Hellboy recalled the nervous attitude of the new director—recalled her insisting she was making a request, not issuing orders or demands—but it only lasted a moment. Without a backward glance, he turned his back on his promise to the new director and gave it to the tendrils of smoke drifting toward the ceiling.

Directors always overreacted; this new director would figure out who was really in charge soon enough.

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **New names this chapter** : * **Serafina** , won't see her often, just ignore her for the time being. * **Maverick** , may never really _see_ him, just ignore him. * **Avira and Dante** aren't technically new names – you may recall in a previous chapter that Amber mentioned "Vega" and "Avira" as being yet another reason for Elder Amber to want her dead. Avira and Dante are siblings working for the bureau in exchange for protection from Amber Sr - Avira is an Air-type smuggled off the compound as an infant for her own safety and Dante, her older brother, is a Sensory-type Spirit Elemental. You'll meet Vega later on in the story. ;)

 **Rusher, Finding My Way, The Garden, Totem.** Whenever a band or musical artist appears who wins the hearts of their own following, that following will often assume a name to rally under. The Beatles have _Beatlemaniacs_ , Taylor Swift has her _Swifties_ , and in this case, RUSH has **_Rushers_**. RUSH first formed back in the seventies; their most recent released studio album was Clockwork Angels released in 2012 and their first released album was Moon Records' self-titled album in 1974. **_"Finding My Way"_** was the first track on  RUSH and that album was the ONLY album solely with the original drummer; every subsequent album was produced and performed with the current percussionist Neil Peart. **_"The Garden"_** is the final track on Clockwork Angels, the final studio album, so Jasmine is working her way from the very first song to the very last, excluding non-studio albums…the logic in that is that RUSH has produced 19 studio albums but if you include live, compilations, and remix albums, that's _41 albums_ _–_ _one_ fewer than the number of singles they've released. Lastly, _"Totem"_ is from the album Test for Echo, which was the last studio album produced before the band was forced into hiatus on account of a long string of tragedies. It's not one of their most well-known albums and some of the tracks are a smidgen repetitive, but it's one of my favorites as a Rusher.

 ***** HB is pretending to read **Seneca's** **Letters from a Stoic** in Latin. What I'd give to have had a chance to take Latin in high school...sigh. Of course, the French teacher was a Puerto Rican who continually switched between Spanish and French during class so I wouldn't hold my breath on any Latin classes actually making sense. :|


End file.
